Refuge
by DustWriter
Summary: AU: District Twelve struggles to recover from the revolution that tore the country apart years ago, and the eldest Everdeen daughter sacrifices her freedom to help her starving family. But even in the darkest places and times, refuge can be found. Banner by Ro Nordmann: h t t p:/tinyurl . com/9np3g8l remove spaces
1. Chapter 1

_Thank you so much to HGRomance, DarkenedRuby and eeg01 for all your input and assistance! (And thank you, eeg01, for your evil genius.) Slightly expanded "MA" version is on the DustWriterFics blog. _

**Chapter One: Katniss' POV**

I need to stop pulling on this button. If I pull this button off, the coat won't close over my throat. I don't have a scarf; I need to keep this button. But my hands won't leave it alone. I've rubbed this spot on my index finger and thumb raw picking at the cracked button. They've bled before. Calluses are forming. I can't stop picking at the button, like a cut on one's inner cheek. I have to pick at myself to remind me I'm still alive. And as long as I breathe, I'll make sure he does.

I pick up my quiver and bow and toss the too-light game bag over my shoulder. It's already mid-morning and I have a long walk to the Hob. I should leave now. The cold air isn't as painfully crisp this morning. Spring must be only a few days away. This has been a hard winter, but then I've never had to work so hard to survive a winter. I slip through the trees, the bag of game bouncing against my back. It's not much. Just a few squirrels and one wild turkey, but it's enough for today. It'll feed me and my sister. Maybe my father will eat today.

I can always hope.

I weave through the tall, thickly packed trees with my bow at the ready. Even on my way out, I won't give up one last chance to snag something. I need more money.

"Psst."

I jump and turn my eyes to the quick, sharp noise. My shoulders relax when I recognize the dark eyes peering out from behind a shielding tree, lest I had loosed the arrow and shot him by surprise. "Hi, Gale."

"Hey Katniss."

The tall, lanky young man appears from around the trunk. He is thinner than the last time we ran into one another. Far thinner than the first time I saw him outside the Justice Building.

It has been a very hard winter.

He thrusts his chin at bag in my hand. "How's the catch this morning?"

"Not bad," I murmur, minding my volume out in the woods. Predators are nearby and I don't need them to come after my only food. I also don't want the influx of new, inexperienced hunters to hear where I find my game. Competition is getting stiff now that the fence is down. But Gale – I'll share with him. "Mild weather is bringing out the smaller animals."

"Good," he nods. "Today's a teaching day." He glances behind him. I spy a smaller boy peeking out from behind a tree a few yards away.

"Which one is that?"

"That's Vick. Next year is Rory's turn."

"Rory," I remember quietly. I glance up at him. "Good luck. Take care."

"You too."

He gestures for his brother to follow him. I watch the scrawny, limber boy duck and run after his only father figure. I am momentarily grateful I do not have any growing boys to feed. A rail-thin sister is difficult enough.

I wonder briefly if Gale Hawthorne and I would be friends if our circumstances were more similar. If rather than strangers passing in the trees, we knew more about each other. But neither he nor I have time for friends anymore. There's too much work to be done.

His father is dead. Mine is dying.

* * *

_"Can you help me with this?"_

I should have known he was sick. He had never asked for help before. Not with sincerity. Only to make me feel like I was a strong young woman able to help her father.

We were out in the woods less than two years ago. Just twenty months. Chasing down birds to shoot out of the sky. I was getting better every day, he said. And I was.

His arm had shot out from his side and grabbed mine. I looked up in surprise as he pressed one index finger to his lips. He pointed dead ahead. In the stillness of the clearing I saw the doe. Through the barren trunks, her fawn coat camouflaged her well with the trees. It was more beautiful than anything I'd ever seen. I held my breath.

My father's arrow was strict in its path. I was still staring when the doe fell. I blinked and she was down.

He saw me frowning at the loss. "It's all right, Katniss," he murmured. "Her life was given for ours. Someday our bones will nourish this forest and give her descendants lush green plants to eat. It's a circle. I promise you." He winked. I believed him.

He stowed his quiver across his back and handed me the bow; I hurried after him. We reached the doe and he bent to pull the roll of knives from his boot holster. He suddenly stopped and gasped.

His bow was fitted with my arrow immediately. I raised my arm and surveyed the woods.

"No, no," he muttered. "Just got a little short of breath there. Here, why don't you clean her?"

"Yes, sir," I grinned. I took the roll of knives from him.

He still walked me through the steps, but waiting to be sure I hesitated. He never assumed I didn't know what to do; he wanted to give me the benefit of the doubt. I appreciated his confidence.

Finally she was ready to be taken home. When my father stood again, I heard the same hitch in his breath. Then he asked.

"_Can you help me with this?" _

I should have known something was wrong.

He took the head; the heavier side. I took the feet and slung the game bag of birds over my shoulder. We marched home proudly.

Our home was at the furthest edge of the Seam; you couldn't go any further west without walking into a fallow meadow. If you walked north for a quarter mile you ended up in the mouth of the mine. My father had walked into that mine every day for eighteen years, since the day after he had eloped with my mother.

I expected one day I'd be swallowed by its darkness as well. If you have to flee to the woods to find food as a child it's not likely you'll escape the hunger as an adult.

My mother greeted us as the door in excitement. My little sister was at her heels. At first Primrose winced at the sight of blood dripping onto my boots, but she recovered to beam and accept a kiss from my father. She followed our procession around the side of the house where my mother helped him hang the deer from the meat hook to carve.

My mother hurried Prim inside to start rearranging our ice box to fit the meat we would keep. She ran to the kitchen to find waxed paper to package some to sell at the illegal trading warehouse called the Hob.

As my father and I stood outside, looking at the rare kill, I felt prouder to be his daughter than at any moment before. I felt him watching me.

"Happy sixteenth birthday, Katniss," he smiled.

"Thank you."

A month later he collapsed in the forest.

* * *

I'm nearly at the Hob. I give my customary curt nod as greeting to the characters that hang around this dismal part of town. The drunk, the corrupt police officer, the retired schoolteacher with no pension. They know me well.

I find the warehouse cool; the windows have been opened so the smoke from the wood-fire stoves can escape. I turn immediately to the left. I know the way to the butcher's booth by heart.

"Katniss," Greasy Sae smiles gently. "Good to see you again."

"Sae," I nod, hauling my bag up to the counter lined with scales.

"Your father?" she asks quietly.

"Same."

She's been here long enough. She used to trade with him before me. She knows my family. She knows not to push for more information.

"Birds?"

"Squirrels."

She peers into the bag. "Turkey?"

"I need it for home."

"I can give you more for the turkey," she whispers. "Give you some stock for squirrel soup."

"It's my father's birthday."

She nods, although I can tell she hasn't given up. She knows as well as I he can barely eat. It is a waste to keep the turkey and sell the squirrels. But we haven't eaten anything but meager soup in so long. I need to eat today.

I crack my bony knuckles. "The squirrels," I decide with finality.

She acquiesces and weighs them on her scales. "Four pounds!"

"Four pounds? You are a talented woman," her husband smiles as he comes around the corner.

She smiles back at him. She was lucky. In all of the auction marriages in our district, hers turned out to be a good match. She might be the only one with a good match in recent history.

The name 'Bristel' floats through my mind. I push it away roughly.

Her husband counts out fifteen coins for me; a bit generous for my catch, but they are both good people and I never question their kindness. I thank them, pull the bag with the turkey over my shoulder and walk down the row of merchants to the apothecary. He glances up and nods; he knows me.

"Ginger root. Fish oil," I say. I drop five coins on the counter. He sweeps them into his palm and turns to his elaborate shelving unit. He's located the ginger root in seconds and wraps it carefully in the paper for me. The oil he pours from a large canister into a small glass jar I produce from my pocket. I shove the root and bottle into my leather jacket; a gift from my father for my seventeenth birthday. The coat he could no longer wear hunting himself.

The apothecary and I nod and our transaction is over.

The next stop is the wool maker for Prim; she has outgrown her clothes again and mine are so threadbare they don't patch well. I can tell I'm not growing much anymore. There isn't enough food to spur it on. I hope there will be a time when she's taller than me and can wear new clothes.

I can always hope.

The money is quickly gone. I make my way back to the door. Sae waves. I only nod. It's all I can ever do.

I step outside to begin the journey home by crossing through the narrow Seam marketplace of coal mining tools and the poorer vendors who sell found articles and, I suspect, goods stolen from the Merchant marketplace. It's crowded in the late morning. People barter around me for the things they desperately need and cannot afford.

I pass the Auction Board. I shouldn't stop, I never want to see, but I always have to. Ever since the day I saw her picture posted there. It had been a beautiful picture. Her captivating smile had sparked a lot of interest. It must have been from a special occasion well before she turned eighteen.

Once Bristel knew she was going to be married she never smiled again.

* * *

It's not a terribly old practice from what I know. I think it's only been happening since my mother's time. That doesn't make it better, but it gives me hope we can find a time when it doesn't happen anymore.

I can always hope.

It's not really a marriage. It's a purchase. The starving family posts a special announcement on the Auction Board, congratulating their son or daughter on turning 18. It's just a less obvious way of saying anyone with at least 200 coins can trade their money for their hand. The weddings might as well be funerals for their dismal atmosphere. The potential spouses have little more than the coins they use to find a partner. If they were wealthy, or at least wealthier, they'd have the money to court properly and pay for a service outside the Justice Building. But very, very few people here do. It's more common for girls. Miners rarely have time or money to court young women. Boys can work in the mine at 18 and end up there more often, but if a poor family needs a strong back for the family business a husband is found on the Board.

Some families can't even wait until an eighteenth birthday. Those are the worst announcements; congratulating a child on their 14th birthday and mentioned how strong or quick they are. They'll find a host family that will take them in as a servant until they are 18; then they are married off for a profit or sent to the mines. If they survive. All for just thirty coins.

I saw Bristel last on the morning of her wedding six months ago. Her face was drawn in mourning as her father helped her around the side of the Justice Building standing in the town square, the very center of our District.

She didn't see me spying on her.

I watched her mother and older brother stop at the front steps. Her mother was crying and unable to continue. Her brother offered her a rag for her nose but could not offer comfort. There was none to be had.

Morbid fascination drove me to the side of the building. I hid behind a crate of supplies arriving for the mayor. Probably more fencing to keep the wild dogs from running into the public market and destroying the dismal meats delivered by a struggling founding Capital. The revolution that had come fifteen years before was slow to establish a supply chain. Power struggles between the opposing parties have only worsened conditions.

Bristel was led to the wooden stairs erected against a small, dusty platform. It was faded from sun exposure and the wood was grey and splintered. It sloped against the stone wall of the Justice Building. Her face was expressionless. I couldn't look away.

The potential husbands waited around the side where they could bid on the bride. Bristel was beautiful and known to be smart and strong; I'd always thought with her self-discipline she'd be a mine foreman or headmistress of the school. I suppose those attributes could also go to a mother of a mining family, but I'd never thought of her that way.

The bidding started at 200 coins, and within minutes she had been betrothed to a man more than twenty years older than her who lived with his brother on the opposite side of town. Her father shook his hand with a thin-lipped grimace.

A shout from the front of the building garnered some attention from the gathering. I spied a young man running towards Bristel. He nearly ran straight into her father, pleading and begging for him not to do this. That he would find his own money and take care of Bristel.

Her father shook his head and said he knew the boy couldn't; the boy was supporting his own family on his own. Her father said taking on Bristel would mean death for them all. Bristel's father thanked Gale Hawthorne for loving his daughter, but he couldn't marry her.

Bristel said nothing.

The stranger led her off the stage and handed her father 350 coins. They walked into the Justice Building to find a magistrate and disappeared from view.

* * *

I move quickly towards home, trying to outrun my own thoughts. I hate to remember Bristel. I hate that I know the losses Gale has suffered. He saw me when he'd left in defeat and shame. I had walked away.

I focus on getting home where I can be near my family; safe from the world in which I am trapped.

I push open the creaking door and see Primrose immediately. She is singing softly to the bundled mass on the armchair in front of the fire. She twists her neck to smile at me and motion for me to stay quiet; he is resting.

"Is that Katniss?" comes a wheezing from the blankets.

"Yes, it's me, Father," I call softly. "I have more ginger root for your tea."

"Thank you," he sighs. "And thank you for my song, Prim." She nods and stands, collecting a tray of picked-over food from his side. "How was your hunt today?"

"Very good," I say with a grin. "I brought you something special."

"For me? You shouldn't have."

"Yes, I should!"

"What is it?" he asks eagerly. I can see his bright eyes trying to strain to see what I've got in the bag as I toe my boots off at the door.

"I'm not telling," I tease, shrugging off my coat. My sister smiles and collects the clinking bottle from the coat pocket. He groans when he sees it.

"I hope it's not fish oil."

Prim raises a playful eyebrow. "That's hardly a surprise anymore."

"And it's not," I tell them both. "Prim, help me in the kitchen. You'll call us if you need anything?" I ask the bundle.

"Yes," he sighs, settling back down. "Thank you."

I nod and Prim scuttles after me and motion for her to stay quiet and push the bag into our iron sink. When I pull the turkey from the bag she still gasps.

"Oh Katniss," she whispers. "It's beautiful."

"It was pure luck," I agree quietly. "Will you help me prepare this?"

"Help?" she raises a sardonic eyebrow.

"Fine, will you just do it for me?" I smile.

"I will _help_ you," she insists. "Let's pluck this first."

As we strip feathers from the carcass she tells me how his day has been. Wheezing and coughing in the morning, but some anti-inflammatory herbs helped him downstairs and into the chair by the fire.

"So you didn't go to school again?" I murmur.

"No," she admits. "Mother had work today. I had to stay."

I can't blame her. I've not been in well over a year. I hardly went before.

"I don't need it," she says soothingly. "I'll learn more at home anyway. And you're already smarter than you admit."

I roll my eyes. I can't add and I haven't read anything but a price sheet at the Hob for months. I'm lucky I can sign my name. I've spelled it wrong before.

"Where did Mother go?"

Prim sighs. "The mayor's house. His wife's migraines are getting worse."

I shake my head. His daughter could have been called my friend in school. I'm not certain of her name anymore.

Mother has worked every day she can for the past two years. We used to wait for the visit beseeching her help as a healer; now she takes her basket of potions and elixirs and walks into town. She wanders the Merchant and Seam corridors, asking if anyone knows of work. She comes home tired.

She doesn't sing with us anymore.

"What does one do for headaches?" I quiz Prim as she rinses the bared bird with the cold water tap.

"Dried and crushed belladonna in small doses," she answers immediately.

"Very good," I compliment her. "You don't need Upper School after all."

I hear my father coughing violently in the other room and Prim vanishes in the blink of an eye to tend to him. He got sick when she was thirteen. By her fourteenth birthday she was our District expert on Black Lung.

* * *

He had collapsed in front of me in the forest. I had thought he'd been shot by a rival hunter; once the fence had been deactivated more of our townspeople had found the courage to wander into the woods. But there was no blood or wounds; it was just his gasps for air.

I hauled him up to lean heavily on my shoulders and we picked our way home slowly and painstakingly. My mother heard me crying and kicking the door and met us with panic. He fell over the threshold; Prim screamed. He was pale and sweating. The three of us dragged him to our shabby sofa and Prim retrieved a cold compress for his forehead. My mother pressed her hands to his flushed cheeks and listened to his coughing.

"Just a cold, girls," he said to our frightened eyes. "Don't worry so much. I'll be fine."

The next week when he couldn't go out hunting with me after school, I hoped it was only the flu. It was late fall, after all. Lots of people in the Seam got sick that time of year. Why would he be any different?

But he didn't get better in a week like the rest of them. He only got worse. By the time my mother knew what was wrong it was almost too late.

He had been standing up to retrieve a spoon for Prim; she'd been giggling at a terrible joke he'd told her and she'd dropped hers on the floor. When he stretched his legs, his eyes rolled back in his head and he fell to the ground, a faint color of blue on his lips. I froze at the table. My mother jumped over to him while Prim scrambled to cradle his head. Mother sealed her mouth to his and exhaled into his lungs. His chest rose and fell. He coughed and sputtered to life in a daze.

"I'm okay," he gasped. "I'm...just let me lie here."

I watched my mother taste and touch her lips.

"Silica," she whispered. Her eyes found mine.

My mother tried to explain what Black Lung was to me and my little sister. She had treated other coworkers that have the same disease and they had lived for many years after diagnosis.

When I asked how we would cure him she was silent.

I dropped out of school for good that day.

I hunted in the morning and brought a little of the food home. In the afternoons I would take the cleaned and prepared meats and our old possessions to the trading warehouse to try to earn a little extra money for his medicine. My little sister's goat yielded a small amount of cheese that usually earned a few coins for wool to make more blankets.

In the evenings we would sit around the table with whatever I'd caught or stolen that day and my father would suggest that he could learn the accordion to play for parties, or take up knitting and make colorful hats and blankets for newborn babies. It was mostly to make Prim laugh.

We could see he would never be able to work again. Mother was never the same after that night. Besides the work, besides the fear. She grew hardened in front of my eyes; determined to survive this.

I willed my father to find that strength.

Prim returns from the living room, nodding at me. She doesn't say he's all right, because he's not, but nodding tells me he's at least stable enough that I can focus on her teaching me how to salt the bird. We have only salt and pepper; spices are a luxury. She slips her surgeon's fingers between the meat and the flesh and rubs the salt in. I watch her enviously; she has grace in even the smallest things. I rub the calluses on my fingers.

The bird is seasoned and I light the stove. Prim peels two potatoes for the four of us to share while the turkey fills the house with a glorious aroma. I pour water to boil and more into four chipped glasses on the table and we wait with painful anticipation to eat.

Prim is setting the turkey on the table when my mother comes in the door.

"What is this?" she asks as she hangs up her scarf. Her brow is furrowed at the rare full setting.

"A treat for Father's birthday," Prim smiles.

"Don't tell him," I caution. "I want him to see it when he comes to the table."

My mother nods and moves out of sight to check on him on the sofa. I follow her and look away as she asks quietly how he's feeling. The answer is always the same.

He leans on our shoulders as we pull him to his feet and he staggers to the table.

"Oh girls, this is wonderful," he breathes at the turkey and small bowl of sliced potato. "A feast for my birthday."

Prim pulls out the chair for him and we set him down, serving a small portion on to his plate. He doesn't have much of an appetite, but we always try.

Prim serves Mother next, then me, then herself. I always slide a slice from my plate to hers; she's still growing and so much smaller than me. She gives me the same playfully annoyed look, but eagerly eats the meat.

My mother taps her cup with her knife. "I have a surprise as well."

"What is it?" Father asks.

"Mayor Undersee said the medicines factory in Four is finally open," she bursts forth.

We stare.

"What?" I whisper.

"They are making medicines again. Real medicines that can do more than herbs," she tells my father.

"Real medicines?" Prim gasps. "Father, we can get you real medicines!"

We're cheering and laughing and beaming. My mother smiles. "Gordon expects a shipment within a month."

"Where will we get the money?" Prim wonders aloud before she can stop herself. We don't talk about those things anymore. She drops her eyes to her empty plate.

"What if you sold the leather jacket?" my mother asks me. "Leather will bring in a few coins."

My breath catches. "But," I stammer, "Father gave that to me."

"It was a gift for her birthday," he argues, albeit it weakly.

"It's nearly spring," my mother counters. "I have some warm sweaters you can wear instead of the jacket."

I frown at my water glass. She's right, of course. There's nothing left to sell.

"Katniss, if you want to keep the jacket, you can keep it," Father says gently. "We can find something else."

"No," I say quickly. I smile at him. "It's going to get you medicine. I need you more than that jacket."

He reaches across the table and takes my hand. His other hand stretches out to Prim. "My girls. You make me so very proud."

"Happy birthday," I grin.

As we clear the table, I hear my parents talking softly about the details of the medicines in the living room. I try not to listen to how clinical and business-like it sounds. Since he's been sick the tenuous tenderness between them has all but vanished.

I suppose even a love match has its limit.

* * *

The next day is warm, and I'm grateful as I walk to the Hob with the cleaned coat over my arm. It's a good thing I didn't pull the button off.

I walk to the tanner first so he can look over the coat and tell me an honest appraisal. It's worn but in good shape. I give him a handful of strawberries I picked from Prim's garden in thanks.

The clothing trader is a hard bargainer. I nearly walk away before she offers me twenty-five coins. I hand over the coat wistfully. The soft, supple leather glides over my fingers for the last time. It's replaced by a pile of cold coins.

"You're selling your coat?"

Gale surprises me and I jump. He drops a pile of fabrics onto the counter for the clothing trader to sort. I eye them.

"My sister. She's the only girl; we don't need to keep dresses for hand-me-downs," he explains.

I nod.

"You're selling your coat?" he asks again.

"For medicine. From the factory," I tell him. "They've started making real medicine again."

Gale blinks. "Real medicine?"

I nearly smile in public at his surprise. Even the clothing trader is enthralled. It's been a long time.

"That's wonderful news." He coughs. "How is your dad?"

I swallow hard. "Fine."

He watches me. I fear he knows how to track prey too well; he's learned how to read body language. "Good."

"Yes," I nod. "I have to go, I'll-"

The scream ripping through the air makes my blood run cold. Gale and I only hesitate a moment to stare before we run outside. The woman who screamed had fainted just beyond the door and we had to push her out of the way to get out of the warehouse. We run to the circle of people to survey what's happening.

She's standing on the lip of the disused well. It's been dry for years; it's just a fifty-drop down to the earth below. Her cheeks are pale and dirty; her face pinched and tired. She's nothing like the Bristel I knew.

"Come down here!" I spy her husband yelling frantically from the side of the circle. A bag of goods to trade is spilled; she must have slipped from his side while he was bartering. He's too afraid to approach her.

"Bristel?"

Gale's voice is soft. It catches her attention. His eyes are wide; disbelieving and still hopeful.

Her vacant eyes find him. He steps forward. A smile ghosts over her mouth. "My sweet," she whispers.

His sorrowful smile grows as he inches closer to her. "My beauty," he murmurs to her, holding out his hand. "Please."

She turns her heart towards him. She smiles at him.

She steps backwards.

I know there is screaming behind and all around me but all I can see is Gale crumpled on the ground; staring at where the girl he loved had been standing. I step over to guard him; to keep anyone from disturbing him.

I watch her husband sigh with disgust, pick up his bag of goods and walk away.

"She was pregnant."

I don't know how to respond to Gale. We've been sitting in the meadow for nearly an hour. This is the first thing he's said since I made him come here when they were going to try to retrieve her body from the well.

"We didn't know if it was mine or not." He looks up a pair of turtledoves cooing to one another in the sky. They land a few yards away from us. "I guess it was his."

"Gale-"

"You don't have to say anything," he says gruffly. I suspect to mask the pain. "You don't need to know all this. We're not friends, are we?"

I shake my head. "You may be the closest thing I have to a friend," I confess weakly.

He stares at the blades of grass beneath his boots. "I was going to buy her back."

"How?"

"There's a clause in the contract. If something was found to be illegal or breached, you can break a contract and be re-auctioned." He glances over at me. "I studied the laws a lot after I lost her. That's why...we kept seeing each other. Infidelity is a clause. I could have brought it to the Justice Building, they would have revoked her contract and I could marry her then. But I just couldn't save the money fast enough." His shoulders start to shake as he weeps.

I watch one of the turtledoves fly to a branch on a tree bordering the meadow. The one on the ground calls for its mate before flying after it.

I say nothing. There is nothing to say.

I let him cry for another half hour before I show him the way back to the Seam through a shortcut in the forest bordering the meadow.

He thanks me not to tell anyone he was still seeing Bristel; he doesn't want her husband to try to take the money back from her family. It paid to put a roof back over their heads. I promise to keep their secret. It's the least I can do for someone who has lost everything he was and would have been.

* * *

"Thirty-four," I count out onto our barren table. My mother slides it over and adds it to the jar of coins we've been collecting.

This is the third night this week we've eaten two slices of bread and a glass of water for dinner. My stomach aches for the food we've sold to pay for the medicines. My hair is falling out.

"That makes ninety-three, Mother," Prim says weakly from the chair next to me. "How much more until we can - afford the medicine?"

I wonder if she was going to say 'eat again.'

"Gordon says the anti-inflammatory pills are one hundred sixty a bottle," my mother whispers. My father is sleeping on the sofa again. Without the meat, he's gotten weaker.

"One sixty?" I gasp. It's taken nearly a month of hunting all day to save ninety three coins.

"Can he help us out?" Prim asks gently. "Surely with all you've done for him."

My mother glances are her sharply. "What is that supposed to mean?"

Prim frowns. "Mrs. Undersee's headaches. You've been over there so often."

My mother nods. "Yes, well. He's already paid me handsomely for my help; he gives us this bread every time I visit."

"Do you think he'd give us meat?" I dare to ask. I can always hope.

"I will not test his generosity, young lady." She stands abruptly. "We'll be fine."

I sigh as she hurries away to store the money in a secret place only she knows. "She'll be fine," I mutter. Prim shushes me, but I think she agrees.

Gordon Undersee always invites Mother to stay for tea and biscuits. She gets to eat twice a day. Three if his daughter needs a herbology lesson.

Prim swoons when she stands and I catch her elbow. She smiles and pats my hand with her dry fingers before she crosses to my father to listen to his breathing. I look at his sunken cheeks.

"I'm going out, Prim."

She glances at the clock on the wall. "At this hour? It's nearly ten."

"Just for a walk," I tell her. I don't need to say more. She already knows.

Pulling my father's hunter green sweater over my head and check my black pants for tears, I slip out the side door and eat two strawberries from the garden. I need the sugar.

It's a long walk to the Merchant's Quarter.

* * *

It's pitch black by the time I've reached the two miles across the district. Perfect for thieving.

The first stop is the butcher's shop. He forgot to leave his smoker locked last week. He remembered to lock it this night; he must have noticed the three missing sausage links.

I move on.

The poulterer's hen house isn't secure and I pull the loose lock from the rotting wood to steal a half-dozen eggs. I don't even care if he notices; I'm too hungry. I consider stealing a chicken, but two miles is a long time to fight with a bird. I swipe a cardboard container to keep the eggs in and keep moving.

The metalworker's display cart is out front of his shop; he wheels it to the Merchants' marketplace in the afternoons after he crafts his artworks in the morning. I wriggle my bony hand between the locked wooden cover and into the cart. I feel around for something; anything. I retrieve a cheap hammered silver bracelet and let it slide over my wrist. I wonder if I should steal more, but he might notice more than one bracelet. I can't risk his figuring me out.

The bakery is the last shop on this street and the last I have the strength for this night. It lies only fifty yards from the woods on this end of town, so the darkness covers me entirely as I creep along the side of the house. I know the family lives above the shop. I used to go to school with the younger brother before he dropped out when he was twelve. I heard it had to do with an accident and his mother, but since I'd never seen him again I didn't ask.

I can't remember his name either.

Their windows are locked tight, but their trash cans aren't chained. Sometimes I think they don't lock them out of pity. I pick up three burned crusts, a stale and slightly moldy loaf of seeded bread, and a failed pie crust. Wrapping them in paper from another bin, I look up to the house.

I jump. I swear I saw eyes watching me.

I peer harder. There's nothing in the window set into the back door now.

Shaking from the scare, I tuck my finds under my arm and head back home.

I stop on the way and steal a chicken.

* * *

The bottle arrives at the Mayor's home this morning. We'd been waiting for two weeks after he placed the order. It was like waiting for an honored guest who would come and fix everything.

The day after my pillaging trip, we ate half the chicken and Prim baked the other half into a pie after refashioning the crust. I'd traded it to Gale's family for clothes for my father; he'd grown so thin he needed Vick's old clothes.

I'd sold the bracelet and eggs in the Hob. I nearly raced home with the coins and tried to push my mother out the door to take the money to the Mayor to send for the pills. She'd insisted we behave and waited until she was summoned the next morning to attend to his wife.

Now that the medicine has arrived, Prim and I can't do anything productive all day. I haven't felt this happy in a long time. When Mother walks in, we squeal like children and help Father to the table. We sit and wait anxiously as Mother opens the package.

"This is all?" Prim whispers. My own heart is crushed.

The bottle contains only fourteen little white pills. The instructions say to take a two a day.

Two months of starving. For a week of medicine.

I stare.

"That's it," my father pounds his fist on the table as hard as he is able. "Take this back to the Mayor. We'll return it and get the money back."

"What?" My mother blinks. "Gordon did us a favor pushing to get this medicine before any other District! We can't just send it back like we're ungrateful."

"Evelyn-"

"I've worked nonstop to make enough money to buy this!" she cries out. "I'm so tired! How can you say no?"

"Because this is crazy! Katniss and Primrose are suffering for this? Something that won't even cure me? I'm not going to let the girls starve for-" but he has to stop now because he's coughing too hard.

I stand and walk to the kitchen. I come back with a glass of water and hand it to him. He tries to thank me as he sips the water. I pick up the bottle and let a tiny little white pill fall into my hand.

"Take it."

He carefully sets down the water with his shaking hands. "No."

"Father, take it. Please."

It hurts him to need us to care for him. He loves to take care of us. But in this moment, for the first time, I think he sees what we see. This is our life from now on.

I think Mother sees that now too. He will never be well. She sits in silence.

He takes the pill with a defeat I've never seen before.

"Father?" Prim whispers.

He doesn't respond.

"Father." Prim never demands anything, but this tone is clear.

He looks up to her.

"We love you. We want to do this for you."

He nods. I hope he believes us.

I can always hope.

The next morning is surprisingly cold for spring. I pull on two sweaters as I roll out of the bed I share with Prim. She's a little furnace under the blanket, so it's doubly cold to leave her side.

I hop down the stairs and am not surprised that no one else is awake. Since I became the sole hunter, my internal alarm clock is set for the crack of dawn. I find a bit of bread and a tiny ball of cheese waiting for me on the counter. Prim must have known I would start back up hunting right away.

There is so much more medicine to buy.

It's a long day out in the woods; ten hours of hunting for a sufficient pull. The more hunters there are, the less there is to go around. I'm still the best; I know this to be true. But inexperienced hunters frighten away the animals and I must travel further and further into the woods to find quality game.

I stumble exhausted to the Hob at dusk.

Sae's husband whistles. "Six pounds of birds. You have a gift, my dear."

I sigh and find the energy to nod.

"I can buy four pounds," he says.

I blink. "What?"

"Four? Four pounds. About seven of them."

"Why not all?"

"It's a bit late," he apologizes. "I've bought a lot today. I just don't have any more money."

I stare. I look over his shoulder to wear Sae is slaughtering a heap of birds piled to her elbow.

"How much?" I dare ask.

"Fifteen."

I catch myself before I stumble. "Okay," I choke. I push the remaining three pheasants back into my bag.

The coins are light in my hand and I work my way around the vendors, vying to see who will take food instead of money. I've never begged before. I don't know how to. Yet.

The wool-maker turns up her nose at the pheasant. The apothecary agrees to take one, but only for the ginger root. I can't get fish oil without money. I eye the liquor distiller and slip over to her stall.

"Wondered when you'd get the taste for it," she nods. She knows my face.

"What do you charge?"

"What you got?"

"Pheasant. Good meat."

She sucks on her rotted teeth. "Show me."

I pull the larger bird from the bag and she turns it over. I look at her yellowing skin. "I know you're hungry," I tell her.

She eyes me. I know her too. "A bottle. The big one."

I hand her the bird and take the heavy bottle with a nod. I don't ask twice. I march straight outside to the town drunk. He leans heavily against the well. My stomach turns over.

"How much do you pay Ripper for your bottles?" I hold the bottle behind my back.

"What's it to you?" the man called Abernathy spits.

"How much?"

"Fifteen."

"Liar.

"Seventeen."

"I'll do fifteen."

"Twelve."

"Fourteen."

"Thirteen."

"Thirteen and you don't tell her." I square my jaw.

"Done."

I trade him the bottle for his thirteen coins and he's popped the cork before I even walk away. I shake my head. I don't have time for distractions. It's getting dark and Prim is going to be very hungry. This is the smallest bird, but it will have to do for tonight.

I walk in the door as the light goes from the sky.

"Sorry I'm so late, I had to barter," I begin as I walk in the door, but I stop short.

They're all sitting at the table. My father's lips are pale blue again. His face is drawn. My mother's mouth is a fine line; Prim has been crying.

Mother clears her throat. "Katniss."

I turn my head very, very slowly to her. Something is wrong.

She looks at her hands, clasped tight on the table. "You'll be eighteen next week."

A cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. I can't nod.

"We're going to announce you on the Board."

I will never have hope again.

* * *

Chapter Two: Peeta's POV will be up as soon as I possibly can post it...


	2. Chapter 2

_You are all so amazing; thank you so much for your words! I'm scheduling a day off this weekend just to work on this story for you. _

**Chapter Two: Peeta's POV**

"I saw her out there again," my brother says around his cup of coffee. "That girl with the dark hair. Maybe we should start throwing out more things. I've been seeing more and more Seam kids over here at night."

My father smiles. "You are never going to save enough for your wedding, Cob, if you remain generous to a fault."

Cob's fiancee blushes from across the table and squeezes his hand. "I like your generosity," Fern assures my brother.

"And you are far too patient," Dad clucks at her, standing to clear the breakfast table.

I'm still staring at Cob. "The girl with dark hair?"

"Yeah, the one you went to school with. Catnip?"

"Katniss."

"Yeah, her. She's been over here three times this month. The redhead boy was over last week and I saw the Melbourne twins over at the wool-shop sheering a sheep in the middle of the night."

"If Clarke is sleeping through that noise he deserves to be robbed," my father smiles.

I shake my head. I can't believe I remember her name. It's been six years since I saw that girl. I wonder what happened to the rest of my schoolmates. My friends.

I push my chair back from the table and feel Cob's eyes watching me as I haul the crutch over from where it leans against my mother's chair. From what was her chair. From the spare place, I remind myself. It's been a year. It's time to let her go.

I pull the crutch up under my armpit and balance my cup on my plate to head to the sink, setting the dishes on the counter. "I'll get these," I tell my father quietly. "You need to open."

He frowns at his watch. He jumps at the time. "In five! Cob, get your apron. Fern, can you help light the ovens?"

Dishes pile up by my wrist and I roll my eyes. Fern thanks me and Cob winks and playfully punches my shoulder. I pretend to wince and he immediately apologizes. I tell him to go.

It's not easy to wash dishes with a crutch under your arm, but it's been long enough that I'm used to it. There are some rare good days I can stand behind the counter without it and no one knows my leg is mangled. I like those days and how pleasant it is to not be stared at.

On bad days I hide back here in the kitchen, mixing the doughs and handing them out through the swinging doors for Fern or Cob to collect and bake.

It's going to rain today. That means a bad day. My leg is already aching.

After the dishes are dripping in the rack over the sink, I turn to the island we built in the middle of the kitchen with hanging cabinets above. Cob built a chair on wheels so I could slide around the counter and reach higher items. But bending over and picking things up never gets easier.

I wince as the ache in my leg grumbles with a clap of thunder overhead. I push away the pain and focus on the recipe in my head. I can hear my mother's voice as I measure out the ingredients.

"One and two," she sing-songs. "And now for you," she would smile as I put the next two cups of flour in the bowl for her. "You and me and eggs make three. A pinch of that, a dash of this, now top it off with a kiss." She'd lean over so I could give her a kiss on her warm, soft cheek. That rhyme embarrassed me so much when I was fourteen. Now I'd give anything to hear it again. I'd give anything to feel protected again.

"Peeta? Country white!" I shake my head, grab the filled bread pan and push my crutch against the counter. The wheeled stool carries me across the floor and I bump into the wall to announce my arrival at the door. I have the loaf ready for the oven as Cob pushes open the door. He takes the pan.

"Be careful on that," he scolds me.

I push myself back to the island by bracing my crutch against his stomach and pushing. He laughs and rubs his stomach. I know it can't hurt; he's the size of a horse. I wonder if I'd have gotten that tall and strong if I hadn't gotten hurt.

* * *

They think I can't hear them when they're in the living room, but my bedroom is under the stairs. We had to move me when I couldn't take the stairs; so now I sleep on the ground floor. The pain in my mangled leg on rainy days makes it hard to sleep, so I lie awake and listen. I can hear everything. I pick at the numbers I carved into the wall by my head as I eavesdrop.

"But when?" Fern asks, straining to sound cheerful.

Cob sighs. "I nearly have enough saved."

"Cob, I don't need anything fancy. I love you. That's all I need."

I want to groan, but she's sincere and they'd hear me.

"You're too good for me," he murmurs.

I wish they'd just both admit they know why they're still not married.

"Good night, Peeta," she calls as I hear her footsteps ascending the stairs above me to what was once my bedroom. Dad asked her to stay with us after her grandmother died; we had my old room to give. He expected at the time it would be a few short weeks before she became Cob's wife and moved into Cob's room. It's been two years.

The knock at the door is expected. "Can I come in?" Cob asks.

"Yes."

He pushes open the door and towers over me as I lie on the mattress. Like every time, he surveys the supply closet that became my bedroom. The dresser fits snugly behind the door against the wall and the mattress is on the floor since a bed frame wouldn't fit through the narrow opening. The window is so far above me I can nearly look straight up to the moon at night. There's a rope hanging from a bolt in the ceiling by the bed so I can pull myself to my feet in the morning. A few heavier sacks of flour that couldn't go up the stairs to my old room are by my feet.

I kick them when the bad days are really bad.

"Is the drain working all right?" he asks, thrusting his chin to the tiny bathroom he helped built. He'd fretted for a week that the shower he rigged was too close to the toilet until I told him at least I could sit down while I showered. He laughed and appreciated the effort.

The accident wasn't really his fault, but he's never believed that. No matter how many times I told him.

"It didn't need fixing," I assure him. He's always trying to do one more thing for me.

He nods, but I don't think he's listening. "If it acts up again, just let me know."

I nod. It's all I can offer.

"G'night," he says, shaking his head and closing the door.

I sigh and let my head fall back on the pillow. My eyelids flutter closed.

They pop back open.

My leg is stiff; I must have fallen asleep though it feels like no time has passed. I look up and see the stars have shifted in the sky. It might be past midnight, but I can't tell. I hear a shuffle and a scrape. The sound of the trash bin lid.

Cob was right.

I use the rope to pull myself to my feet and locate my crutch in the dark. I hobble to the door and push it open, hopping forward on my good leg. I creep slowly to the back door and its un-curtained window.

It is her.

I thought I'd long given up on this feeling.

The moonlight flashes against her visible cheekbones and I blink against the brightness of her colorless skin. I pull back from the door into the darkness of the sitting room.

She looks up. Her eyes pierce the night. Did she see me watching her? I don't think so. She shakes her head and rolls up the food into some discarded paper. She glances back at the house one more time before I watch her vanish into the night.

I stand in the darkness for a few minutes, listening to my breathing settle before turning back to my room. I lie back down slowly. I wonder if she'll come back.

I can always hope.

* * *

The spring brings new flowers and rabbits to the garden, but nothing inside this house changes.

Fern's bathwater runs through the pipes behind my wall and wakes me as it has every morning. I yawn and listen for the familiar argument in the kitchen.

My father: "She won't wait forever."

Cob: "She knows I'm trying to save up for a nice wedding!"

My father usually counters with something about how she doesn't want a big wedding. Cob will say just because she says that doesn't mean she means it. Then my father will argue that since she's alone and there's only the three of us how big could the wedding be? Cob will become indignant and say he needs to get ready for work.

I roll over. I wonder who Katniss will marry. I haven't seen her at the trash bins in over a month. Cob started throwing out more stale loaves just in case.

I heard Jasper Goodsen lost a chicken that night. I smiled when I was alone.

I run my fingers over the numbers in the wall and pull myself up by the rope.

The argument goes quiet as I hobble over to the bathroom. I wish I could figure out how to be stealthy. They always know when I'm coming.

I splash my face and lean heavily against the suspended toilet tank to relieve myself. I never bother with a morning bath; I'm so filthy by noon it wouldn't make sense. Showering when I'm tired is difficult, but I have to make it work.

I pull on Cob's hand-me-down clothes that will always remain too big and limp out to the kitchen.

"Pancakes?" my father offers.

I nod.

Cob pushes a jar of jam to me. I hear Fern humming to herself upstairs. It's nice to hear singing again. We were silent for so long.

"You should marry her," I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Cob's left eyebrow rises. I don't usually argue with him about this. I don't usually argue about anything. I don't usually talk.

"I'm going to-"

"Soon."

The thought of silence returning to our house is suffocating.

He blinks. "Peeta, I am," he tells me. "I love her. I do! I just-"

"Then go get a license."He looks back and forth between me and my father. I wish he'd just do what he wanted instead of what he thinks he needs to. He pushes his chair back slowly from the table. He wipes his mouth with his napkin as Fern hops down the stairs.

"Good morning!" she says brightly. "Cob, honey. Where are you going?"

"I'm going to apply for the marriage license." He seems a little shocked to be saying it out loud.

She blinks. "Really?" Her grin is so wide her teeth don't seem to fit in her head anymore.

His stunned smiled brightens a little. "Yeah. I'll be back in about an hour. About an hour. I think."

"Okay!" she grins. "I'll be here."

"Okay," he smiles. He looks to me. I nod. He closes the door and we watch him walk away. He picks up speed as his happiness grows.

* * *

Fern is useless that morning. We don't really mind. She stares off dreamily into space as she tries to mix batter, but she forgets to put ingredients in the bowl. And the spoon is upside-down.

Dad sends her into the garden to pick berries, but I catch her stringing wildflowers and singing to herself within fifteen minutes. I roll my eyes, but I'm glad for her. She's been waiting for two years. She would have waited ten, but someone that kind should never have to wait for happiness.

When Cob explodes through the door less than an hour later without his beaming smile I know she will have to wait longer. He's panicked and anxious and grabs my Dad away from a customer to yank him into the sitting room.

"Peeta, help the customers. Please!" he begs and he pushes me out of the kitchen. "Where's Fern?"

I limp into the storefront dazed. What could possibly have happened?

The customer whom Dad was waiting on is just as curious, but I won't entertain any of her suggestions of disaster. She's annoyed I only give her the total due and bag her items, so she hurries off to find someone else to gossip with.

Fern comes into the storefront. "Peeta, your father and brother need to talk to you in the kitchen."

I'm frightened for her. She should be enthralled. She looks confused and sick.

The door chimes and she assumes a false smile to help the next customer. I push my way out of the bakery and into the kitchen.

My dad is sitting at our breakfast table. He wears Fern's worried expression. My brother is sweating and gripping the back of the chair.

"What's happened?" I whisper.

"Um," my father starts. "Your brother...Um."

"I did something," Cob breathes, as though he can't believe it himself. "Peeta, I did it for you. I really only did it for you."

I stare.

"I didn't even think!" he shouts suddenly. "They were just calling out the numbers and I just..." he swears.

"Cob," my father says quietly. My brother nods.

"Sit down," Cob says, pulling the chair out for me. He finally sits across from my father and turns to face me as I struggle into the seat.

"Peeta, you remember your friend? With the dark hair? Catnip?" he asks slowly.

"Katniss."

"Yeah, that one," he breathes. "She was as the Justice Building this morning."

My heart pounds in my chest. "You married Katniss?" Everything is spinning. Why would he do that? I want to vomit.

"No!" he shakes his head. "What? No." He takes a deep breath. "Peeta, she was up for auction."

I can't see. Everything in front of my eyes is black. I can hear voices but I don't know what they're saying.

Cob's holding my arms and shaking me when I come back a moment later. "Peeta! Can you hear me?"

"Who?" I choke out. "Who?"

Cob glances over at my father. "Peeta, I don't know what I was thinking. I just...I saw her and I knew...I knew you liked her. Back in school. And sometimes, when I mentioned her. You...you were back for a minute. Sometimes."

He rubs his face hard.

"I spent my wedding money to get her for you."

I want to vomit again. I can't tell what I feel anymore. It's too confusing.

My father's face is red. "I can't believe you'd do this to him."

"I thought I was doing something right! It happened so fast. Peeta, I'm so sorry," my brother is crying as I try to focus. "I didn't mean you couldn't find a partner on your own. That you wouldn't. I know nothing's wrong with you."

I close my eyes. "It's okay, Cob," I whisper.

"It's not okay!" my father yells.

"Dad, I'm not going to meet anyone else."

"You are!" he's yelling at me now. "There's nothing wrong with you!"

"Dad."

I don't want to push this while Cob is watching me. He's always living the moment over and over again. I don't want to remind him. But his hand-me-down shirt hides the myriad of scars that will never go away. It's not his fault. But Dad can't pretend the scars aren't there.

"I'll marry her," I whisper to Cob. "I have to get changed."

He wipes his eyes and nods. "I'm sorry."

"Help Fern close the shop," I murmur, struggling to my feet and heading to my bathroom. I listen to him sniffle as he walks to the front of the bakery to lock up.

My father stops me before I get to my room.

"You don't have to do this," he whispers. "I can find someone else to take her."

"It's okay, Dad." I try to smile. It's hard to remember how. It's been a long time since I had a reason to. "I'll be okay."

He nods, but I know he doesn't believe me. He had a love match and so did Cob. He thought I'd have the same. I knew better.

"Dad?" I stop him before he can walk away.

"Yes?"

"Bring some extra money for the magistrate," I tell him. I force a thin smile. "If I have to get married today so does Cob."

* * *

_Chapter Three is on its way..._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: Katniss' POV**

Prim strokes my hair back from my face. I'm still sweating from throwing up. Prim sits silently besides me. I think she's too tired to cry anymore.

Mother is pacing the halls. I wonder if that big man will come back for me. He gave her all the money he had in his pockets and told us to wait here; he was going to bring the rest from home with his family. Mother didn't like that idea, but he'd bid twice what anyone else had offered. Even the auctioneer had been stunned. I was the first girl to earn 563 coins on the auction block.

Father has barely spoken all morning. He sits propped in a wingback chair in the room they've let us use until my...fiancé...returns. He's at least ten years older than me. I can't remember his name.

I feel the bile coming again. Prim holds the waste bin as I retch into it. There's nothing left to vomit. There's nothing left in me.

During the week leading up to my birthday, we took turns begging Mother for another way. Father stopped taking his medicines to save us money but it made Prim scream so hard he had to give in and take them again. We searched for another solution; any solution. But it was the night when Father's lips were pale blue and Prim was holding his hands while she sang that changed my mind. She glanced over and suggested she could work as a maid.

I looked at her surgeon's hands. Hands born to heal. Hands that would be ruined by hard labor.

I went to my mother and told her we needed a nice picture of me for the Auction Board.

She smiled. Her eyes were hard again. She had found her way to survive.

I thought I was being brave until this morning. I realized I had just been ignoring what was going to happen. I had gone hunting, fishing, trading. Pretending life was not over. But this morning when I got out of the bath a pale blue dress was waiting for me. My best shoes had been cleaned. A flower was waiting to be pinned into my hair.

Prim found me curled up still in the towel. She cried with me.

My mother clucked over my swollen eyes and pressed cucumber slices over them while she helped my father dress.

I had picked at my breakfast. "You should eat," Prim said, gently brushing my arm with her fingers. I looked at her kind face.

"You won't forget me, will you?" I whispered.

She started to cry again.

Mother had hired a cart to pull us since Father was too weak to walk from our home to the Justice Building.

"How did you afford a cart?" he gasped as the driver helped lift him into the back.

"Mayor Undersee sent it as a wedding gift for Katniss," she said. Prim frowned.

The driver had to lift me into the cart; I'd forgotten how to walk. I sat next to my father and we shared the silence of our failed lives. Mother commented on how beautiful the morning was and she wondered who my husband would be and what a lovely young woman Margaret Undersee was becoming.

"Madge," I finally remembered.

"What a dull nickname," Mother sniffed. "Margaret is more regal. Oh, here we are."

There were about a dozen strangers at the auction block. I fell getting out of the cart. I crawled over to the bushes by the front gate and vomited.

"For crying out loud, Katniss," my mother hissed. "What if they hear you?"

I stared at her. She'd already let me go. I was already a stranger to her.

"Please don't do this," Father whispered, hanging on to me. "I'm not worth this."

"Yes, you are. You all are," I told him. I swallowed hard against the bile.

I walked to the auction block. I couldn't feel my feet as I tripped up the stairs. I couldn't bear to look at anyone, so I looked up in the sky. A pair of turtledoves perched high in the tree across from the Justice Building. If one hopped to another branch, the other would follow. A pair matched for life. A love match. I would never know that.

My heart turned to stone in my chest.

I looked down at the faces in front of me. Someone was talking. The auctioneer. He was calling out two hundred ten. A hand was raised. Two twenty. A pair of men counted their coins together. Two fifty. Another hand. Two sixty. Two seventy. Two eighty? Can he have two eighty? Two seventy. Once. Twice.

"Five hundred sixty three!"

I blinked in the gloomy morning.

"What?" asked the bewildered auctioneer.

"Five hundred sixty three."

"Five hundred?"

"And sixty three."

The man working his way through the crowd of poor, dirty coal miners was enormous. Easily with the strength of an ox. His muscles were visible beneath his clean, white shirt. He could crush my neck with one hand.

His face was soft and kind. His voice was panicked.

"I'll take her. I've got five hundred sixty three." He glanced at my family. His eyes lingered on Prim's narrow shoulders "And a loaf of bread a week for a year."

"Okay," the auctioneer said slowly. "Five hundred sixty three and fifty-two loaves of bread. Do I hear a challenge?"

The coal miners were already leaving. No one could meet that.

"Engaged!" the auctioneer said, as he must to keep up the charade. "Congratulations and best wishes for a lifetime of happiness."

I stared at the blond man. I'd never seen him before.

He stepped closer to me and I could see he was cleaner than anyone I'd ever seen in the Seam. My father's coworkers were always coated in a layer of coal dust; grimy nails led up to filthy sleeve cuffs. Their hair was always matted from sweat and dirt. He looked nothing like that. His arms reached out and took my waist. I tried to scream but my voice vanished from my throat. He effortlessly lifted me off the stage onto the ground next to him. He towered over me by more than a foot.

"Everdeen, isn't it?" he asked my father frantically.

"Yes." My father frowned. "Do you know us?"

"We're the only Everdeens in the District," my mother said quickly. "You have five hundred sixty three?"

"At home, I've got forty with me. I was coming to apply-"

"You're supposed to have the full amount!" Mother quickly shouted. "What if you're lying?"

"I'm not," he stammered, surprised. "I have to go get it. I have to get my brother. And my father. And Fern," he said, a sudden cloud sweeping his face. "Oh no. Fern," he whispered. "She...oh no."

"What's 'oh no'? Do you have the money or not?" Mother demanded.

"Let's go inside," the man said, taking my hand. His palms were rough and calloused. They covered mine entirely. He had to pull me. My feet still weren't working. Prim chased after me, nearly stepping on my heels.

He was the one that found the empty room. "Here, stay in here," he pleaded. "I'll run home and be back. Twenty minutes. Fifteen?" he begged of my mother's skeptical look. "Fifteen."

"Fifteen," she said sternly.

Then he ran away.

I would have hoped he would never come back; but I gave up on hope.

* * *

I lean back from the waste bin and Prim slips a mint leaf from the envelope in her pocket onto my tongue to chew. I barely have the strength.

"He seems nice," she whispers empathetically. "He wanted his family here."

I stare at the floor. It's a lot of food. And medicine.

"Where is he going to get bread every week?" she asks aloud.

A soft knock on the door answers the question.

"Mr. Everdeen, is it?" I recognize the slightly shorter and heavier man entering our chamber in front of my fiancé. His name is Mellark. He's the baker I steal from.

I know the young man with the crutch following him too.

My father does not look up.

A young woman with peachy red hair and dazzling hazelnut eyes enters just ahead of my mother. She immediately crosses to me. She smells like apple blossoms. "You must be Katniss," she smiles warmly as she takes my icy hand. "It's so nice to meet you. I'm Cob's fiancée, Fern." The man I now know as Cob puts his hand on her shoulder.

"What?" Mother beats me to the question. She spins to him. "You're already getting married?"

"Um. Yes, sorry. There wasn't really time to explain," Cob says.

"Peeta has volunteered to marry Katniss," the baker says softly.

I look at the young man with his eyes on the floor.

"Oh." My mother is looking at his crutch. "But you do have the money?"

"Yes," Mr. Mellark says, turning to Cob. He pulls out a larger bag of coins and notes than any I'd ever seen. He hands it over to her. I watch my mother weigh it in her hands. She pulls a paper note from the pack. I've never seen a paper note of money before. I've never seen her eyes so alive.

"Well, best of luck," she says breezily. "Prim, will you help me with your father?"

"You're not staying?" Cob says.

"We're not staying?" Prim gasps.

"For what?"

"For the wedding," Fern says, her eyes wide.

"We don't have to," Mother says slowly.

"I insist," says the baker. "It's a family affair, after all."

My mother shrugs. Prim looks relieved and helps me to my feet. I move to my father to help him up.

"Let me," Cob says, crossing to me and easily lifting my father to his feet. "I lift all day long," he tries to joke, but we are beyond laughing today.

He helps my silent father to the door as we seek a magistrate to marry us.

* * *

The boy I vaguely remember doesn't meet my eye while the magistrate reviews the wedding contract. I suppose it's just as well; I can't look at him either.

I stare at his shoes. They're shined. His cuffs aren't frayed. He put on clothes reserved for a special occasion.

I listen half-heartedly to the rules I have to follow. I have to stay married for at least five years, barring death, or my parents must return all the money. After five years the penalty drops by fifty coins a year. I have to live with my spouse. I have to be faithful. I have to be respectful.

He has to provide me with food and shelter. He has to support me or provide me with employment if he cannot fully support me. He has to be faithful. He has to be considerate.

The magistrate reminds us if we choose to have children we can work out another contract at a later date.

"Do you understand the terms of your marriage?"

"Yes." It's barely a whisper from both of us.

"Sign here."

I struggle with the pen. I can't remember if my name has one s or two. I glance over my shoulder. "Prim?"

"K-A-T-N-I-S-S," she whispers, sniffling.

"Thank you," I murmur, signing carefully.

Peeta takes his time to sign his name and hands the pen back to the magistrate.

"All done," the man smiles.

I blink. That was it. All of my life determined in four minutes. I thought there would have been more.

"Could we trouble you to marry us too?" Fern breaks in, gripping Cob's hand. She's radiating joy.

"It'll be very quick," Cob promises.

The magistrate smiles. "Oh all right. Love match?" he asks needlessly.

"Yes."

He turns the pages.

Their marriage is nothing like ours. After their vows are reviewed, they keep talking. They promise to love, honor, obey, cherish, care, comfort, share and trust one another. I hardly see the point of saying it out loud; it's obvious they already do.

Cob produces a ring from his pocket and Fern bursts into tears. "I got it two years ago," he says sheepishly. "I really did want a big wedding for you."

"I never needed a big wedding," she insists, letting him push the tiny silver band onto her finger. "Just you." She kisses him. I look away.

"Well." Mother clears her throat. "We should leave the judge to his duties."

She turns and walks out of the room. Prim gulps and moves to help my father away from the bookshelf he was leaning on, staring at the floorboards. I move without thinking and take his other arm. I freeze when I realize I don't know if I'm supposed to anymore.

But Cob is beside me immediately, relieving me and Prim and helping my father out of the room. Fern ushers Peeta before her, resting a hand gently on his shoulder and offering a quiet congratulations.

Mr. Mellark and I are left in the chamber alone. He smiles sadly at me.

"It's been a long time. It's good to see you again, Katniss."

I look at him.

"Well," he sighs. "Let's show you home."

At the bottom of the steps to the Justice Building, Cob is lifting my father up into the cart. My mother is adjusting the wool blanket over his rounded shoulders. Prim sees me descending the stairs and loses control.

She runs forward and hugs me, breaking into fresh tears when my mother climbs down from the cart in irritation and pushes Prim up into the bench. She doesn't release my hands and I'm dragged to the edge of the cart. My mother climbs back and shuts the tailgate. Prim hangs over the side to my ear.

"I won't forget you," she whimpers. "Ever. I won't."

My father's shaking hand finds my shoulder. "Katniss-"

The driver taps the horse with the rod and the cart pulls away.

Cob carries me when Fern understands I can't move. I gaze at my knees draped over his thick forearm. They look like scabby and knotted twigs. I don't look up at where we are going. I can feel the distance between me and my home growing like a chasm.

Cob sets me down at the front door of the home that smells like bread.

I vomit into the flower garden.

Peeta moves past me to open the door so his brother can carry me inside.

There's a narrow door under the stairs. Peeta is pulling it open. It scrapes against the floor.

Cob sets me down again and I feel two sets of hands on either arm to get me through the cupboard door. One is strong and warm; they must be Peeta's. The others are soft and smell of apple blossoms.

Peeta holds my hair back from my face in the tiny bathroom off his room while Fern runs a cold washcloth over my brow and cheeks. She pours a small cup of water into my mouth and guides my head forward to spit into the sink.

They guide me carefully out of the bathroom. I fall onto the mattress on the floor under the window. I can see the clouds rolling in the sky from the pillow. Fern is grunting as she pulls off my shoes.

The mattress dips as someone sits next to me.

"Katniss?"

It's the first thing he's said directly to me. I say nothing.

I hear a rustle of fabric and feel a blanket over my legs. He tucks it down around my waist.

The door closes.

Everything goes black.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four: Peeta's POV**

"She's been sleeping for hours," Cob whispers nervously to Fern. "Is she okay?"

They try to keep their voices low, but our living quarters are small. I can hear them from where I sit outside my room. We decided not to open the shop back up to keep the house quiet. I don't know if that was for me or her. My father sent Cob and Fern into town for supplies he didn't really need. I wanted them to enjoy each other's company without worrying about me too. They had returned with sweets, a small side of lamb for dinner, and a dress Fern had picked out for Katniss as a wedding gift. I murmur thanks on her behalf. The blue dress she was wearing this morning needs to be washed; she got sick on it in Fern's flowerbed.

"I'm sure she's just tired," she soothes quietly. I hear her move towards my seat. "Peeta?" I twist to look at her through the doorway. "The lamb's almost done. Why don't you see if your wife is awake?" She winks, trying to cheer me up.

I push off the sofa and steady myself on the crutch. I'm nervous approaching my own door. I knock.

"Katniss?"

The door still sticks and it's loud as it opens. I grimace at the noise. If she was asleep it would have woken her up.

She's lying on her back. Her eyes are trained on the window.

"Katniss?"

She lets her head fall to the side. She looks at me.

"Are you hungry? Dinner is ready."

She has to think it over; translate it in her clouded mind. She shakes her head. I nod and close the door.

"She's not hungry," I tell my waiting family.

"Oh," Fern frowns at the feast they prepared. "Well. We'll just save her some."

Cob pulls out a chair for her and she grins. My father toasts their marriage. And mine.

I look at the empty chair beside me.

* * *

It's dark when I've finished clearing the dishes and setting up for an early start tomorrow. I told Cob and Fern to go when they tried to help; it's their first night together as husband and wife. They want to be alone.

Dad stays to help me for a little while, but he doesn't know what to say. I don't need him to feel sorry for me; this was the best I could hope for. So I send him to bed too.

I refill our supply jars and set out the rolling pins and baking trays. I've shaken out and hung up the aprons and tightened the spool of wax paper before I realize I'm just stalling. I should go to bed. I can't avoid her forever.

I move to my door. I hesitate. I knock.

I open the door and I can see her eyes shining in the darkness. She hasn't moved.

"Do you need the bathroom?"

She shakes her head.

I nod and limp over to the narrow door, hanging my crutch on the hook outside. The door doesn't close all the way. Cob is inventive but not entirely skilled. I start the shower tap and lower myself on the toilet lid to wait for the water to move from freezing to tepid.

I hang onto the bar nailed to the wall to undress and pull myself under the stream of water. I can hold on while I scrub the bar of soap through my hair and over my ruined skin. I don't look at my leg and shoulder anymore.

Shutting the water off, I pull my robe off the shower rod and haul it over me. I realize I didn't bring anything to change into. I usually hang onto the rope by the bed when I get dressed. But now she's there.

I'll get clothes and return to the bath to change.

I push the door open and my hands find my crutch. I see she turned on the single wall lamp.

She's sitting up on the edge of the bed with her cracked heels resting on the wooden floor. She looks to me.

I shuffle past her to the dresser; moving as quickly as I can with the crutch in a robe. The drawer is too loud as I pull it from the frame and I wince. I find what I want; the newest bedclothes that haven't been patched by Fern's careful stitching. They were a gift for the winter holidays; not hand-me-downs.

Back in the bathroom I feel foolish thinking pajamas could impress her. That clothes which fit me instead of my brother would make me look better to her. I shake my head and pull my robe back over my shoulders to cover my embarrassment.

I push the bathroom door back open.

She's taken off her dress. She is revealed before me. I can't breathe.

She's standing, waiting for me. She can't look at me so she's looking at the ground.

Her skin is like paper; dry and translucent in the dim light, and clinging to her bones. I can see her sternum. She balls her hands into fists and the bones crack.

I don't move. She glances up. She can't move.

I push forward with my crutch and move in front of her. She's shaking. She's looking at me now. I pull her into me, wrapping my arms around her skeleton. She abandons her silence and cries into my shoulder. I breathe.

When she can inhale again, I pull the robe off my back and wrap her in it. It envelopes her. I find a pair of my socks she can wear and I nod for her to follow me to the dining room. She sits in my chair while I locate the plate Fern had prepared for her. I set it in front of her, apologizing that it's cold. She looks afraid to eat it.

"Eat," I murmur. She picks up the meat with her fingers and her willpower dissolves.

She doesn't reach for the fork once.

I sit on the stool at the work counter while she eats.

When it hurts her stomach to eat any more, I wrap up what she's left on the plate for the morning. I limp to the icebox and set the plate back where I found it. I turn to see she's watching me from the table. I don't know what to do next either.

She stands slowly and I push in her chair. I turn off the lights. I can hear her quiet breathing beside me.

She follows my lead as I hobble back to my—our—room under the stairs. I hold the door for her and her feet pad past me in my socks. I pulled the door closed.

She stands by the bed for a moment, her muscles twitching as she debates whether to sit on the mattress or wait for me. I can see her anxiety returning as her fingers worry the belt on the robe.

"You can wear it. To sleep."

A visible wave of relief passes over her and she kneels down to lie under the window.

I cross over to the lamp. I rest my crutch against the wall and pull the cord to turn off the small bulb. The night amplifies our silence.

I turn back to the bed to see a square of moonlight pours through the window. It bathes her face in pale silver light. Her eyes are on the stars. If this were any other night she'd be outside, under those stars, stealing chickens and plucking berries from our garden.

But tonight she's inside. Tonight she's married. Tonight she's my wife.

My hand finds the rope in the darkness and I lower myself to the mattress. She doesn't move as I pull the blankets up to our waists. I lie still.

She sighs.

It's strange to have someone else here. I've been alone in the dark for a long time.

* * *

She's awake when I open my eyes, but she hasn't gotten out of bed. She'd have to crawl over me or the bag of milled oats at the foot of the mattress. I look up to the window. The sun is breaking over the horizon and I can see the sky catching a fierce yellow orange before it burns away to reveal the blue of a brilliant late spring morning.

I look back down to her. Her gaze has slipped to my shoulder. I glance down.

My pajamas had shifted. The long, near-white fold of puckered skin that runs over collarbone is visible. I throw back the blanket and haul myself up to standing. The room spins from the sudden movement and I cling to the rope for a moment, turning my back to her.

When I'm recovered and yank my crutch under my arm and hurry to conceal myself in the bathroom. I'm gripping the sides of the iron sink when I hear the soft knock at the door. I don't answer. Neither does she.

The door pushes open, as it always does, and I hear Fern's gentle voice.

"Good morning, Katniss. Did you sleep well?"

Silence.

"Good." Footsteps come into the room. "Oh, I see Peeta's up." I smirk at the mirror. It's not like I can hide. "I brought you this. As a gift. For your wedding."

I splash water on my face and rinse my mouth out. I push the bathroom door open.

"Good morning, Peeta," Fern calls. I nod.

Katniss is thumbing the simple pale green dress Fern found for her. She stares at the ribbon stitched along the waist line.

"Do you like it?" Fern asks tentatively. "I could get another color."

"It's new," she whispers.

"Oh. Yes," Fern blushes. "I just…I'm so much taller than you. I don't think anything I have will fit you. You'd trip on the hems."

Katniss runs her hand along the skirt. "Thank you."

"You're more than welcome. Well. I better let you two get ready." Fern turns and walks back to the door. She hesitates before she leaves. Looking over her shoulder, she smiles fondly at the girl sitting on the mattress. "I'm so glad you're with us, Katniss. I've never had a sister before."

Katniss keeps her eyes on the dress.

"You can change in the bathroom," I offer.

She looks up at me and nods.

I wait until she's washed and dressed before I change in the bathroom. I nearly changed in my room before I panicked she'd walk out and see my leg before I could get my pants on. She waits for me, in my socks again, until I emerge.

We go to the kitchen together.

"Good morning, Katniss," my father calls softly from the stove. I move to help him toast the morning breads.

"Good morning," Cob stands as he greets her. He pulls back the chair that has stood empty for a long time. She eases into it apprehensively.

"So you're from the Seam?" Fern asks as she sets a glass of water in front of Katniss. She nods. "And that's coal mining?" She nods again.

"That's so interesting. I'm from Four; I've never seen a coal mine."

Katniss looks at her.

"My grandparents were from here," Fern chats away as she sets a bowl of hard-boiled eggs on the table. "My mother married my father, who was traveling around from Four, and they moved to the ocean. I came back here to help my grandmother after my grandfather passed away. But she passed, too," she sighs. "After a good, long life. I was all set to move back to Four the day I met Cob."

"The day I tripped you at the train station," he grins.

"It was sweet," she insists.

"I was picking up a shipment of millet and saw the most beautiful girl in the world," Cob confesses to Katniss. "I didn't know what to say so…I pretended I couldn't see her over the bag and tripped her as I walked by."

"I tore my dress when I fell down!"

"So I showed her how strong I was and helped her up and carried her bags," he smiles proudly.

"You said you were going to patch up my dress for me," she rolls her eyes. "What he meant was he was going to bring me back here so he could get his mother to do it while he interrogated me." She grins at her husband.

"It worked! She was a good partner in crime," Cob says. He turns to Katniss. "She invited Fern to stay for dinner as an apology."

"I'm still here two years later," Fern sighs dreamily. I watch her massage the silver band on her finger lovingly.

I swallow back the thoughts of my mother. She knew us so well. The minute Fern walked in the door she whispered to me to get the best china out; this was the girl that Cob was going to marry. Fern had looked me in the eye when she shook my hand and never stared at my crutch. When she hugged me goodbye that night I noted she smelled like apple blossoms. After we closed the door, Mom turned to Cob and said, "You need to get a ring."

Fern was the one who bathed my mother when she was too weak to take care of herself.

Katniss eats her leftovers and the toast and jam my father insisted she finish. She looks a bit green. I think even that must have been a lot for her.

She clears the table with Fern and began to wash the dishes before Cob says that's usually my job. She steps back from the sink.

"Why don't I show you the storefront?" Fern says, draping her arm around Katniss' narrow shoulders and ushering her through the swinging door to the bakery. She throws a glance at Cob that I don't miss.

When they're in the other room and we can hear Fern explaining which racks are for which breads, Cob sidles up to my station at the sink and clears his throat. "Is she all right?"

I nod.

"She should eat more," my father mutters as he scrapes her plate into the waste bin.

There's a knock at the front door and a muffled voice asking if we're open yet. "Better get moving," my father sighs. "We need to make up for the business we missed yesterday."

The sound of Fern unlocking the front door takes my father and Cob to the front and takes me to the island to start making dough.

"You can help Peeta."

I look up as Cob pushes a bewildered Katniss back into the kitchen. It makes sense that she work back here with me. She'd be lost behind the counter.

She stands still and waits for me. I frown at the counter top. "Do you know how to knead dough?" She shakes her head. "Do you know how to fold ingredients?"

She blinks.

"I'll show you."

I roll up my sleeves and see her eyes on my skin. My neck grows warm. I stop the shirt at my elbows. She moves to stand next to me. She smells like my soap.

She stands next to me, silent and attentive. She watches me create a small hole in the center of the dough to fold in more ingredients. I show her the heavier grains and the powder soft flours for the special occasion breads.

After an hour I push a book of recipes towards her and an empty bowl. "Try this one," I murmur, pointing to a simple recipe with five ingredients.

She struggles with the book, but once she matches the words on the page to the words printed on the sacks she has the ingredients assembled with precision. She stirs until she can't budge the dough. I take the bowl from her, flour my hands, and start to knead. We create an assembly line. She mixes, I knead, Cob puts dough in the ovens, Dad removes them and wraps them, Fern hands the loaves to the customer.

"We're out of peasant loaf!" rings Fern's voice.

I nod to myself and flip the cookbook to a new page for Katniss. She stares at it. I watch her.

"Can you read?" I ask.

"Not all of it," she whispers.

I nod. I start to take down the unlabeled jars from the cabinets above my head. "Cornmeal." She examines the glass jar carefully. "Bulgur. Oats. Honey is in that cabinet."

"Honey?"

"From bees?"

She nods. She knows what it is. She's just never seen it before. She holds the jar in her hands for a minute to watch how light dances through the viscous amber.

She has the same reaction to the heavy sack of sugar I pull from the small closet.

I tell her to warm some water on the stove while I divide up what we need. When it's warm but not boiling, she brings me the pot. I hold out the bowl I've put the yeast and sugar into and sprinkle it into the water.

"Stir gently," I tell her.

I love this type of recipe. The yeast creates a warm, cocooning smell. I haven't grown tired of it. Katniss relaxes a little as the sweetness of the sugar invades her nostrils and the yeast slowly blossoms in the bowl.

I follow the faded book as best I can; it's mostly from memory.

She doesn't start on the next loaf right away when I begin kneading this dough. She watches it grow and take shape in my hands. I realize I don't mind her staring.

I will make this for her for dinner.

* * *

Dad appears behind the curtain at 4:30, earlier than usual. He always closes the shop at 5 sharp.

"I can finish that. You should get going." Katniss and I look up from the baguette I was rolling out.

"To get her things," he tells us. "From her house."

Katniss looks dumbfounded. "Home?"

"Well yes," my father laughs. "You don't have any more clothes, dear. And," he eyes her feet, "Peeta's socks do not fit you well."

She looks down at my socks spilling over the sides of her wedding shoes.

He nods to the sink. "Wash your hands. Peeta, comb your hair."

I tidy up in the bathroom and change into a shirt that isn't coated in flour. She stands outside the back door and shakes off as much flour as she can; she has nothing to change into.

My father catches my arm as I'm about to join her. "Take this to her family." He presses a wrapped braided wedding loaf into my hands. I raise an eyebrow.

"I can still mix loaves, too," he teases. "Not as well as you. But still. Go on. We'll hold dinner for you."

I turn and ease down the steps. I hand her the loaf and she carries it with both hands as we walk around the house.

Fern is singing as she sweeps the shop.

"Do you sing?" I hear myself ask.

She hesitates before she answers. "Yes."

I nod. I'm glad.

The closer we get to her home the more alive she becomes. The trees and air and birds wake her. She may not smile, but I can see electricity coursing through her. Her fingers dance upon the loaf; her breath is quick. Her nostrils flare as she smells the pine forest from the east and her ears pin themselves back as birds call overhead. She wants to break free and run for the door. She could jump out of her own skin by the time we are on the warped wooden stoop of her house.

I knock. I don't know why I'm nervous. Maybe that she won't come back home with me after she sees her family again.

Her sister answers the door. I take the loaf from Katniss before she drops it to embrace her. The blonde girl called Primrose has her arms wrapped around Katniss' ribs and holds on.

"What is this?"

I turn around at the accusation. Mrs. Everdeen has arrived home from work behind us. She's wearing a new scarf over her blond hair.

"I brought you the bread," I stammer.

"Oh. Yes, I forgot. Thanks," she says, reaching out to collect the loaf from me.

"Will you come in?" Prim offers.

"I'm sure they have to get home," Mrs. Everdeen says hastily.

"She needs her clothes. And shoes," I mumble.

"I didn't realize you'd be coming back for them."

Katniss looks at her. "Did you trade them?"

"Not yet." It sounds like a complaint.

"I'll help you pack up," Prim offers, pulling Katniss inside before her mother can say anything more. I follow her.

"Is that Katniss?"

A feeble voice calls from a pile of blankets on the threadbare couch by a small fire. A hollow face struggles to see around his shoulder.

"Yes, Father," she says softly, eyeing me before running over to him. "I'm right here."

"My girl," he sighs, brushing his hand along her cheek. "Are you all right?"

She glances at me again. "This is my husband," she reminds him, helping him sit up to see me. "This is Peeta."

I try to keep my steps even and steady with the crutch as I approach him. "Sir." I hold out my hand.

His grip is weak.

"My room is upstairs," Katniss says.

"I'll wait here." I stand next to her father's seat.

"Sit," he says.

I do.

Her mother moves to the kitchen. From the door I can see her pull off a bit of the braided loaf and pop it in her mouth. She pulls out a cutting board and knife from a dish rack and begins to slice the bread.

"She's a good girl."

I turn back to her father. He's watching the fire. "Always brave. Very strong. Takes…took good care of me and her sister. A good girl."

"I know." I wait until he meets my eye. "I knew her. At school. She...she sang at an assembly." I don't know how to thank him for his sacrifice. "I'll take care of her," I whisper.

He attempts a nod.

Katniss comes down the stairs with a small basket on her arm. A few articles of clothing are rolled and tucked inside. A pair of boots have been tied together by their laces and dangle over her shoulder.

"You're taking the boots?" Her mother's eyebrow is raised. "You don't need them."

Katniss looks at the floor.

"She might," Prim declares. She looks at me. "She can hunt."

"She won't need to hunt, she works at a bakery."

"She likes to hunt-" Prim argues but her father stops her.

"Take them," her father says, sitting up as best he can. "Take your boots, Katniss."

She looks to him with gratitude.

"Are you sure you don't want anything else?" Prim asks.

"Keep the rest," Katniss murmurs. "You need them."

Prim relents and scratches her elbow through the hole in her sweater sleeve.

Katniss looks to me. I stand and shuffle to the door. I open it for her. Prim follows us to the threshold. She walks along a few paces, hesitating.

I stop and turn around. Katniss does too. She looks at me. I nod.

She runs back to hug her sister goodbye.

* * *

"Son? Can I see you?"

My dad calls me into the kitchen from my bedroom. Katniss excuses herself into the bathroom and I hear the shower water start.

I pull my robe over my pajamas and work my way to the kitchen. The robe smells like her skin. Like molasses and soap and trees rustling in the dead of night.

Dad and Cob are sitting at the table. They look uncomfortable. I sit down and let my expression ask the question.

"So," my father coughs. "You're married now…"

_Oh no._

"And…you're going to be…with your wife," he struggles. "Um. Do you have any questions?"

My eyes are wide.

"The most important thing is to take your time," Cob breaks in. "And be gentle. That's the most important. And going slow."

"And listen to her," Dad jumps in. "Ask her what she wants."

"But not like you ask for the salt," Cob counters. "More…seductive."

I stare at them.

"Um." My father clears his throat again. "So. Yes."

We sit in the most awkward silence that room has ever known.

"Well. Good night!" Cob nearly yells, leaping to his feet and escaping up the stairs.

My dad swallows uncomfortably and repeats, "Peeta. Do you have any questions?"

He waits. I meet his eyes. "I don't know how to be a husband," I whisper. "What do I do?"

My father smiles. "Care for her. That's all she needs."

He stands and pats my shoulder. He goes upstairs.

I sit at the table in the silence of night for a long time. I wasn't sure this would ever happen for me after the accident. And now that it will...now that it's her...I feel weak all over. I push my feet against the floor and find myself standing. She's waiting.

On my first step, I feel the crutch up against my armpit. I feel the twinge of pain in the leg that will never fully heal. I remember what I am. I remember her body, exposed and terrified her first night home with me.

I sigh and pull my robe tighter across my waist.


	5. Chapter 5

_I haven't mentioned it in four chapters, so I thought I should say again that HGRomance and eeg01 are amazing betas and I adore them. And now for Chapter 5..._

**Chapter 5: Katniss' POV**

"You can get a little carried away once you get going," Fern blushes a furious pink and giggles. "Not that we were together _much_ before we were married, but..." she trails off.

I stare.

"Um. Do you...have any...experience?" she asks as politely as possible.

"No," I mouth.

"Well," she continues breathily, "you won't be an expert the first night, but you'll get the hang of it. Just remember to take your time, figure out what you like."

I think my face is on fire. I clutch fearfully at my nightgown. Fern covers my hand with hers. "Oh Katniss, don't be afraid. Peeta's a very gentle soul. I know he's quiet and shy, but he'll take good care of you. He's a lot like his brother, you know. They're such a wonderful family."

She gets a distracted look. "And if he takes after his brother in other ways..." she sighs and trails off. Her eyes are heavy-lidded and dreamy. I feel like I should look away.

She shakes her head. "Do you have any questions?"

I shake my head furiously. I don't think I'd want to know any more as it is.

I was ready our first night. I had given up on everything; I was ready to give up my body too. But now that he's kind... now that he's thoughtful...now I find myself wondering what he will think of me.

"Okay," she smiles. She stands and crosses to the door. "Have a good time," she winks. She slips outside.

Peeta enters a moment later. I can tell from his expression he just had 'a talk' too. His pupils are dilated. My hands are like ice. We look at each other in our pajamas. It's a cross between overwhelming curiosity and abject terror.

"Did your clothes fit?" he asks, pointing at the dresser drawer he'd cleared for me.

I nod. "Yes."

"Good."

I nod again uselessly.

He coughs. I fidget.

He steps closer to the bed and hangs his crutch on the wooden hook on the wall. The hook is crooked. I think Cob made it.

Peeta pulls the lamp cord and we are plunged into darkness. I can hear my heart pumping blood across my temples. He lowers himself on the mattress beside me. I wriggle over to the space under the window. I think my arms are quivering. I stretch out on the mattress. I feel him do the same. The blankets are drawn up to our waists.

"Good night," he mumbles. He rolls onto his stomach away from me.

I watch the moon pass overhead.

* * *

Prim is lying across my ribs. I grunt and twist. She only does this when she has a bad dream.

I open my eyes to the early morning sun filtering through the window. It's not Prim. Peeta has turned in his sleep and flung his arm over my torso. The sleeve of the night shirt has hitched up and the scars are barely visible on his wrist. Just a very faint peppering of purple splotches drifting down the underside of the forearm. The fine hair on his arm is golden. It glows in the sunlight. It looks soft.

His arm is more solid than I thought it would be. His loose clothes hide his strength.

He stirs and I watch his eyes flutter open. It takes a moment for him to remember I am here; for the confusion to evaporate.

He sees his arm across me.

"Sorry," he mumbles. He pulls his shirt sleeve down and sits up on the mattress. My ribs grow cold.

I miss Prim.

He shuffles to the bathroom and I watch him wash his face and clean his teeth through the door that doesn't fully close. He turns around to use the toilet and disappears from view. I roll over to get up.

I didn't need a full drawer; the clothes I took fill up only one side of what Peeta cleared. I pull out my pants. I glance to the bathroom. I pull them on under my nightgown.

Peeta emerges from the bathroom and shuffles past me.

I slip into the bathroom to pull my gown off and yank a shirt over my head. I pull out the braid that has grown loose and messy from sleep and finger-comb it back into place, tying the new braid off securely. My face is washed and teeth cleaned when I open the door.

He is tucking in his shirt. His back is to me. On his left side, his waist has an intricate puzzle pattern of purple and pink flesh. I know those colors. The old miners carry scars like those proudly on their backs and arms and faces. A testament that they survived a mine fire against overwhelming odds.

Peeta's scars disappear behind the shirt that belonged first to his brother. I let my feet drag so he knows I'm back.

I follow him to the kitchen.

* * *

It's a pattern that continues, week in and week out. We spend the days quiet, working side by side. He tries to teach me the complicated recipes as best he can. He dropped out of school before I did but knows these recipes well enough. His parents must have taught him well at home; probably better than our underserved school. I mix the ingredients, watching him knead while I work. He offers me a chair, but I prefer standing. This work is easier than hunting.

They eat a midday meal. The first day I didn't understand what to do when his father told me to take a break. Peeta had to bring me a bowl of blackberries and a roll before I knew I was supposed to eat. He apologized that the roll was stale; it hadn't sold in two days. I had never tasted white bread before. It was like a cloud.

They eat breakfast and dinner together. If someone is missing; Peeta in town or Fern at the wool-maker, they wait until they are whole.

We prepare for bed in the same fashion every night. I shower and dress in the tiny bathroom his brother built. He follows suit. I lie down. He turns off the light. He lies down.

Some nights, when he thinks my eyes are closed, he touches the numbers carved into the wall above his head. They read "five-zero-eight", in his handwriting.

Peeta sleeps soundly. I watch him sleep when the moonlight passes over us. He is pale and his skin glows silver rather than gold at night.

Sometimes he says my name in his dreams.

Mother comes on Sunday afternoons to collect the bread Cob promised. Mr. Mellark called me out the first day she came to greet her. She had nothing to say to me. He doesn't ask anymore. Instead, Fern makes certain I am with her in the garden when she is due to call. Fern sings often.

"Do you like to sing, Katniss?"

I give her a half-nod.

"What do you like to sing?"

I shrug.

"Quiet songs?" she teases. I don't say anything.

"Do you and Peeta talk?" she asks earnestly. She is worried. "When you're alone."

I look at the garden and shake my head. I don't know how to explain that the silence is comfortable; mutual. It seems to be what we both understand.

"Hmm." Fern plucks some carrots from the earth. "You might find you have a lot in common."

I find myself looking up at her.

The door slams around the front of the house by the storefront. My mother is leaving.

"Well, not everything," she mutters. She clears her throat. "Did you ever meet Peeta's mother? When you were a child?"

I shake my head before indulging her with a soft "no."

She smiles sadly. "Pity. She was so lovely," she adds. "You'd have liked her."

I turn back to the garden and pull up a few clovers encroaching on the vegetables.

"She was a mind reader, I tell you. Whenever I was sad that Cob and I had to wait for our wedding she'd pull me aside and give me a hug and tell me even if he took a hundred years she'd called me her daughter since the day we met. She would have loved you."

I look up at her.

"She would." Fern leans closer and drops her voice. "You look him in the eye."

I turn back to the garden. I know now why his mother took him out of school.

"He's not his scars," I say out loud.

Fern's smile is overwhelming. "He's not, is he?"

* * *

"Do you want to practice reading?"

I'm sitting by the fire, watching the coals pass a wave of brilliant orange light back and forth. "Reading?"

He holds up the cookbook.

"Okay," I mouth.

He hands me the book and sits down next to me. He has dried dough under his fingernails. Like mine.

I stare at the cover. He inches closer to me. He pushes the book open in my hands and flips the pages until he finds a long recipe. I don't recognize the words without the bags and jars to match them up to. He's watching me. My hairline is sweating.

"Just sound them out," he whispers.

"Millll...ette?"

He nods.

"One cup of millet," I breathe. "Unsalted butter. Sem...sem...inola?"

"Yes."

"Heat water in a...sawuck?"

"Sauce. A _c_ can sound like an _s_," he explains.

"How will I know which ones?"

"Practice."

I nod and turn back to the book. "Heat water in a sauce pan."

After an hour, we have finished the recipe.

"We can stop there," he says, reaching over to close the book. I catch a breeze of cinnamon. I try to inhale deeper. He sets the book on the side table.

"How did you learn?"

He blinks.

"My mother."

I look at the dried dough clinging to the creases on my palms. I wonder if he sat here in my place while she taught him from the cushion he sits upon.

"Thank you."

He nods.

* * *

I listen to him toss and turn. I'm sweating in my lightest night shirt. On summer nights like these Prim and I would climb out the window to sleep on the roof of our house. My hands remember the rope knots I used to keep us tethered to the chimney.

On the second floor Fern and Cob and Mr. Mellark must be roasting in this summer night air. Peeta's room is cooler, but not by much.

He sighs again and tries to get comfortable. He gets out of bed as quietly as he can. He leaves the crutch and I hear his uneven footsteps moving. The bathroom light clicks on. I can see him splashing cold water on his face from the tap through the gap the door always leaves. He shuts off the bathroom light and tries to shuffle quietly back. He uses the rope to sit on the mattress again. He sighs and rubs his face.

"You can take your shirt off," I whisper.

He jumps. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't."

He sits in the dark.

"You would be more comfortable."

He doesn't move for a long time.

"Can you turn over?" he murmurs.

I roll onto my side to face the wall. I hear the fabric pulling. I listen to my blood pump in my ears. The mattress moves as he lies back down. The blankets shuffle.

"Okay." He's pulled the thin sheet up to his chin. I can't see any of his skin but my pulse has quickened all the same.

I force my eyelids closed. Before they seal out the night, I catch him touching the numbers five-zero-eight above his head.

I wake with my cheek against his bare shoulder. His right shoulder is smooth and the skin is hot. The smell of cinnamon comes from his pores. He stirs. I roll away before he wakes and pretend to stretch. His fluttering eyelids and sleepy eyes finally find me.

"Would you turn over?"

I comply and press my cheek to the pillow, trying to remember the touch of his skin. I listen to him climb to his feet and shuffle to the bathroom. The door fights to close on its uneven hinges.

I roll onto my back and look at the clouds. My fingers find my cheek.

I'm sleeping better than I have in a long time.

I think I like sleeping next to him.

* * *

"It's so beautiful, why don't you eat lunch in the garden?" Mr. Mellark nods to me and Peeta. "It's quiet today; you can go together while Fern and Cob watch the shop."

He's at the counter taking over for the two of us before we can agree or refuse. He tries to give us time alone often. I guess he thinks we talk in private too.

I wash my hands while Peeta waits for the sink. He collects food from the refrigerator. I help him carry the bowls out the back door. Their garden faces the woods. I watch the breeze toy with the leaves.

"Do you miss the woods?"

I nod.

"Did you hunt a lot?"

"Yes."

"With what?"

"A bow."

He thinks for a moment. "What did you hunt?"

"Everything." I pause. "I mostly got birds. And squirrels."

"Are squirrels good to eat?"

I shrug. "They are edible."

A breeze tugs at the honeysuckle overtaking the border to the stonemason's yard next door. The fragrance is intoxicating.

He pauses. "Do you like rabbit?"

I nod.

"Me too."

When we walk back inside he tells his father I need a bow.

* * *

I can't stop staring at it. It's worn and well-used, but the wood is still supple and pliable. The cord has been restrung. It's taught and alert. It leans against the dresser with the quiver. The arrows are new. Fern wrapped them with a hair ribbon.

My eyes are on it even as I lie next to Peeta in bed. The moon is taunting me, dipping to touch the horizon while she holds back the sun. Autumn is nearly here. The morning will be perfect.

"Do you want to go outside?" he whispers.

I jump when I realize he's awake too.

"Now?"

"You're not sleeping." It sounds like he could have smiled when he said that.

I blink. "You don't mind?"

He shakes his head. He stands up so I can get up without crawling over him. I'm wide awake. He turns on the lamp so I can find dark clothes. I move quickly to the bathroom.

My eyes are bright in the mirror. I very nearly smile at myself.

I pull the shirt my father used to wear over my head. The faded black sweater follows. I pull up my pants. I hear a slight tear. I frown. The sloppy, loose stitches I added to my waistband to take in the pants last April have torn. I try to loop the button. It won't budge.

I tear the rest of the stitches by hand until the pants have been let out enough so I can close the fly. I look at myself in the mirror again. My hair has stopped falling out. It's growing back. My face has color again.

I exit the bathroom and he is waiting. "Will you be safe?" he whispers.

"Yes."

He hands me the bow and quiver. "Shoot straight."

I open the back door and he waits until I'm past the garden to close it behind me. I feel him watching me from the door. As I reach the tree line, I grin.

* * *

Fern gasps. "What happened?!"

"It's not my blood."

I'm standing on the porch. My sweater is spattered with blood. The game bag dripped down my pants and onto my boots. I stopped to scratch my nose on the walk back and smeared the red across my face.

Fern is horrified. Peeta is trying not to laugh. His teasing half-smile makes something inside me jump. I like that smile.

"What on earth did you catch?" Cob asks.

"Rabbits."

Mr. Mellark looks at the burgeoning sack at my ankle. "How many rabbits?"

"Six."

Cob's jaw falls open. "_Six_? You caught six rabbits?"

I nod. There are not a lot of hunters on this side of town. The competition is not as stiff. I had my pick of what to hunt.

There's a moment of silence before Mr. Mellark lets out a whoop so loud it frightens me. "Six rabbits!" he yells. He lunges forward and hugs me.

"Oh," I protest, seeing the blood on his apron when he lets me go.

"It's washable," he dismisses. "As are you, you should get in the tub when you're done. Our huntress." He shakes his head, taking the sack and peering inside. "Six rabbits," he murmurs.

He bows to me. I flush with embarrassment. That's not my record.

No one else has cleaned pelts before, so I do all six. I'm not a skilled butcher, but I can get meat from the bone. Cob watches me with fascination.

"What do you usually do with a catch like this?" he asks.

I swallow. "Trade."

"At the market?"

I nod.

"At your market?"

The Hob is the worst kept secret in District Twelve. I nod.

"What do you get for them?"

"Wool. Medicine. Money."

"Hmm. Do you think these would sell?"

I nod.

He walks to the door. "Dad?" he calls in. "How many rabbits do you want to cook for dinner?"

"Two!" the call comes back. "One for tonight and we'll save one for tomorrow."

Cob turns back to me. "Think you can sell four rabbits?"

My breath catches. I get to go back to the Hob.

"Yes."

After I've washed and changed and Cob has thrown my bloody clothes into a pot of soapy water outside the garden door, I find the skinned rabbits wrapped in paper packaging, nestled in a large enough basket.

I pick up the basket. I look for Peeta. I set the basket down and walk inside. He's at the island forming biscuits.

I wait. He looks up.

"Are you coming?" I ask.

"With you?"

I nod.

He hesitates. "I've never been."

I realize I want him to come. He gave me the bow. He gave me this chance.

I wait. He watches me.

"I'll come." He rinses his hands. "I need to change my shirt."

I let a small smile slip. "No you don't."

He questions me with an eyebrow.

"You'll see."

And he does. The Hob is far from the Merchant Quarter, but the boundaries of our District, I learn, are curved like a crescent. The bakery lies at the edge of the curved boundary on one end; my home at the other. The Merchant and Seam Marketplaces are in the middle, but by cutting along a worn path just inside the edge of the woods the travel time is cut in half.

Peeta is good with his crutch. He moves deftly despite the limp. He recognizes the Hob even without knowing it beforehand. The warehouse is bustling today. It's a rich fall day during the Harvest season.

We used to have a Harvest Festival when there was a government to order us into town to spy on us. My father said it was to count new babies. He would never tell me why the government wanted to know how many children it had; just that the Feast was used as a census. The practice was abandoned for a few years after the revolution, but when I was small a few families began to celebrate the season as something for us, rather than something done to us. It became a day of feasting before the winter set in.

Father and I would go hunt two turkeys that morning. One to trade for candy for Prim and fresh flowers for my Mother. The other was to roast.

He would carry me home from the Hob on his shoulders while I bounced the bag of candy on his head and giggled.

Peeta keeps close to me as we arrive at the Hob this afternoon. A distracted customer trips over his crutch and apologizes with embarrassment. Then stares. My face grows hot and I glare. She spies me and hurries away.

"I'm going to get a few things," Peeta mumbles. I watch him walk down the row of tables.

I weave a path to Sae's booth.

"Katniss!" she cries out loudly and rushes out from behind the counter. "My dear," she mourns. "I saw your picture. I'm so sorry."

I shake my head. "It's all right, Sae."

She runs her hands up and down my arms, rubbing them in comfort. "You look well," she breathes. I look down at my shirt. It fits better.

"Yes."

"And your...match...he's taking care of you?"

"Yes."

"Where are you living?" she asks, moving to the counter. I hand her the packages to weight.

"At the bakery."

She drops one of the packages. Her eyes are wide. "You married Savarin Mellark?"

"His son."

"Oh," she breathes out. She furrows her brow and shakes her head in embarrassment at her confusion. "I thought...I knew his wife." She tallies the weight from the rabbits. "Katniss, these are just beautiful. Forty pieces."

"Forty?" I gasp. It's a lot of money.

"It's harvest time! They'll sell before the day ends."

I stare at the coins she sets in my hand.

"Katniss?"

I see Peeta holding a paper packet. He works his way around other customers to me. I see them glancing at him as he passes.

"This is my husband," I tell Sae. Peeta steps closer to shake her hand.

"Peeta Mellark," Sae breathes before he can introduce himself. "You look just like your mother."

He nods and takes his hand back.

Sae smiles sadly. "She was a fine woman." She sighs.

Peeta is raw. He swallows hard and nods.

"And now you have a fine woman, too," she forces out. She thrusts her chin towards me. "Congratulations to you both."

"Thank you," I say. Peeta thanks her too.

"Anything else I can get for you?" She smiles at us. I wonder if she sees her past in me.

"Do you have rock salt?" he asks.

"I don't, but I think Murphy over there does."

Peeta bids her a quiet goodbye and she hugs me again, whispering to keep in touch. I follow him to the table where he's asking for a small amount of rock salt. I reach into my pocket as the teller asks for five pieces.

Peeta frowns. "That's your money. It's yours."

I look up in confusion. He reaches into his own pocket and finds silver coins for the vendor. He takes the tin container and thanks the man.

I push the coins back into my pocket slowly. I've never had money of my own.

I carry the tin container on the walk back through the woods. He holds the paper packet tightly. My mind wanders to Sae's smile when she recognized Peeta. I don't know why it made me proud.

At the door he stops. "Um."

I stand next to him and wait.

"I saw this. I thought...I got it for you." He pushes the paper packet into my hand. He takes the tin container.

I open the packet. A small golden pin sits on the tissue paper I cup in my palm. A bird is overlaid onto the ring with an arrow caught in its mouth. I can't look away.

"If you-"

"It's beautiful. Thank you."

He nods. A hint of a smile plays at his lips. "You're...you're welcome."

He pushes the door open and we walk inside.

* * *

I can't move. I barely made it to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. Now I'm splayed on the mattress, stomach aching. I need Fern to let out my pants again.

Their feast was beyond anything I had dreamed. Savarin typically sells more pies and cakes than any other time of year this month, so he puts a little aside from each sale to have a feast that rivals a wedding banquet. A roasted goose, a full bowl of potatoes, beans, the last greens from the garden, beets, roasted apples, and two full loaves of bread were crammed onto the table.

Cob laughed when my jaw fell open.

Peeta used the rock salt to make something called ice cream. I had two bowls. He promised to make me more when he wiped the bit of cream from my nose after I licked the spoon clean.

Peeta shuffles out from the bathroom now. He's moving slowly. I look up at him. He sighs wearily. He feels the same. He makes it to the mattress and collapses by my side. I smile.

"Thank you. For wearing your pin tonight."

I tuck my chin to look at it, now resting on the dresser. "I like it. Very much," I whisper.

He smiles. I stretch up and pull the cord for the light. The room is dark.

He rolls over onto his side. His warm lips brush my cheek at the corner of my mouth.

"Good night, Katniss."

The stars are burning brightly in the sky. Something is burning inside.


	6. Chapter 6

_I'm not sure how I feel about how this chapter is going...if I change it again, I'll let you know when I post Chapter 7. Thanks for everyone's patience!_

**Chapter 6: Peeta's POV**

I dread Mrs. Everdeen's visits. If they can be called that. She doesn't stay to talk. If she could take the bread and run out the door without words, she would. My father makes her wait while he wraps the loaf deliberately slow and asks after Prim and Katniss' father. She sighs and says they're as usual; he's still ailing, Prim is well. She turns sharply and leaves without asking after Katniss.

I set my jaw. I shuffle to the backyard to nod to Fern that she can bring my wife back inside. It's a mild day for a winter in Twelve and she likes to be outside as much as possible.

I stop at the door.

Katniss is singing. It's just mumbles, not quite words. But there is a soaring beauty in her voice. I can't do anything but listen. She smiles quietly at the winter berries she scoops into a pocket she's made of the hem of her heavy sweater, humming to them lovingly. She stops abruptly and looks to her right. Fern appears around the side of the house with a basket. "Here's one. This should be the right size."

I step outside.

"Are you ready for the berries?" Fern continues the charade. She wants to shield Katniss from the awkwardness her mother's visits always bring.

"Almost," I reply.

"I can finish," Katniss tells her. "You can go in."

Fern pats her on the shoulder, then pinches my elbow affectionately as she walks past me. She knows I'm ticklish there.

I watch Katniss pour the berries from her apron into the basket.

"I heard you singing." She starts. "I'm sorry to eavesdrop."

"It's all right," she whispers.

We listen to Cob and Fern laughing inside.

"My mother sang. Often," I tell her. "Her voice was beautiful." Katniss watches me. "Yours is beautiful too."

She looks at her fingernails.

"I sang for my father," she murmurs. "To cheer him up." She looks behind us to the woods.

"He loves you."

When she turns back her eyes are pained. "Thank you. Your mother was kind."

I grit my teeth. It is surprising how much mentioning her still hurts. "She protected me," I whisper.

She stands up and moves over to me. She looks at the basket in her hands. I reach for the handle.

"Thank you."

"For what?" I ask.

"Protecting me."

I don't know what to say.

She reaches into the pocket of her faded blue pants. They were navy once. She pulls out a long, thin tool.

"It's an awl," she says to my bewildered expression as she hands it to me. "I got it for you."

I raise an eyebrow. She looks embarrassed.

"You...carved...things. Into your wall," she stammers. "This is for carving." Her cheeks are red. "I...you let me keep the money...I got this." She stops.

It is a gift. From her. To me.

I turn it over in my hands. "Thank you," I breathe. "I...thank you."

She exhales finally and eagerly goes inside.

I stare at the scratch awl for a long moment.

She noticed the etching.

* * *

I look at her while she practices the words. Her mouth is beautiful. Her lips sound out the words carefully, rounding and relaxing.

"Is that kaneed?"

"Knead," I correct. "The_ k _is silent. Like knife."

"Knife has a _k_?"

I nod. She stares at the book. She turns back to the page.

"Marble? Like the game?"

"No," I smile. "It's when you mix two different doughs together. They swirl. Like chocolate and vanilla cake."

"Chocolate _and_ vanilla?"

Her bright eyes make me swoon.

"That's enough for tonight," I say, lifting the book from her hands. I set one of Fern's ribbons between the pages. I pushed myself to standing. I offer her my hand. Her fingers are warm as I help her up.

We go to our room. She bathes first while I slow my breathing in our room. I wash my face with cold water to cool the heat spreading over me. She's braiding her wet hair when I leave the bathroom. I wait for her.

She slips onto the mattress and I click off the light before lowering myself down next to her. We breathe in the dark. I can smell the sweetness of her skin.

"Will you sing for me?"

She hesitates.

"Sometime?" I clarify.

Her voice betrays her smile. "Okay."

She inches closer to me. I feel dizzy. My heart pounds. I take a deep breath. I roll closer to her.

She doesn't roll away. My chin is over her head now. She is curled into me. I smell the soap from her damp hair wafting from the pillow.

She moves closer to me. Her body is against mine. I can't get enough air to my lungs.

She lifts her chin.

The moment my lips touch hers I know I could die in that moment, knowing happiness.

There's a knock at the door.

It's a moment for us to understand the noise while we return from our own world. I sit up. Katniss tucks her chin. I hear my father coming down the stairs above our head.

"It's past ten, who would be out at this hour?" he's fretting. The door locks click and the hinges creak.

My father's voice is soft. "Yes?"

"Is Katniss here?" It's a young man's voice.

"What's this about?"

"Gale." Katniss is on her knees on the mattress. Her eyes dart to me. I haul myself up quickly on the ropes and she scrambles off the mattress. She pushes the door open and I follow her out.

"Katniss." He's pale. She freezes.

"Gale?" It's a strangled whisper.

"He's...he passed away," Gale forces out. "Your father."

I catch her as she slips to the ground.

* * *

I wake her up. She doesn't want to move. I know the pain.

I find the blue dress she wore to our wedding. She cries when I hand it to her. I help her get dressed. I buckle her shoes.

Fern braids her hair. Cob gives her a cup of tea she doesn't drink. My father holds her for a long time.

The air is cold. Winter is here. I head for the stairs.

"Peeta?" Cob moves over to me. I haven't gone upstairs in six years. I shake him off.

I struggle up the noisy wooden steps to the room my father and mother shared during their life together. Nothing has changed. He still keeps the dresser clean and the floor swept. He still sleeps only on one side of the bed.

I look away from the undisturbed side and move to the bureau. I knew he didn't give it all away. No more than I can ever truly let her go.

I find the coat tucked into the back. I hobble downstairs with it draped over my shoulder. Katniss is standing with her forehead against the cold window pane. Her breath makes blurry patches on the glass. I slip my mother's heavy wool coat over her shoulders and push her arms into the sleeves. I turn her around to button the toggles painted with flowers.

I take care of her.

We walk silently across town. Dad carries a meat pie, Fern a tureen of soup that will need reheating, and Cob three dense loaves of bread. I steady Katniss' steps.

We reach the house. Smoke is coming from the chimney, but there is no warmth to the setting. The cart is waiting to take the body the short distance to the meadow.

Katniss falters. I hold her arm fast.

Dad knocks. Prim answers the door. Her face is unrecognizable from the grief. She falls into Katniss' arms and they hold each other. Time passes but offers no relief.

My father urges them inside, out of the cold. We follow Prim in to the living room. The table is set sparsely with food; these guests appear to be Seam families. The man Gale is here with a woman I can see is his mother. I recognize a few faces from the Hob, but most elude me. I don't spend long in town.

We set the food on the table. It nearly doubles what they had.

"I'm going to find Mrs. Everdeen," I whisper to my father.

He nods and pats my back.

I limp to the kitchen. She is crying on a man's shoulder. He hears my crutch.

"Mr. Undersee." I know his face from news reports.

"Oh, Peeta," Mrs. Everdeen sees me, dabbing her eyes. "I didn't know you were coming."

"We brought Katniss."

"Good," she mutters distractedly. She's looking at the towel rack as though it has something to say. I know that look well too.

"We brought food," I murmur.

"Good." She laughs weakly then doubles over into tears. Mr. Undersee helps her back to his shoulder. I leave them alone. I return to the living room.

"Katniss and Prim are upstairs with the body," Fern whispers. "I thought we should let them say their goodbyes alone."

I swallow hard. I sat by my mother's bed for hours. I said goodbye so many times. I still want one more time.

I nod.

There's a soft, tender knock on the door. My father opens it to let in the undertaker.

"Good morning," he says gently. "It's time."

A few men go upstairs to retrieve the body. Katniss and Prim precede its appearance, silent and devastated.

We wait. I hear Prim's unsteady breathing. I put a hand on her shoulder.

The body appears at the top of the stairs, wrapped to the neck with linens. It is held aloft while the pallbearers make their way slowly down the stairs. They reach the landing and I feel Katniss starting to shake. I rest my crutch against my ribs to take her hand.

When the body is in the cart outside, she thanks me and takes Prim's hand. Her mother comes out from the kitchen, wiping her face with the mayor's handkerchief. The undertaker greets her, and holds the door for her. Katniss and Prim follow her. The party empties out of the house for the procession. Mrs. Everdeen takes her post directly behind the cart, fresh tears erupting as she sees her husband's face again. Prim steps up behind her, patting her back gently.

Katniss turns to me. Her eyes are red. "Will you walk with me?"

"Yes."

I step forward and take her hand. Prim takes her other hand. We walk.

The service is short. We say our thanks for their life, our loss is their freedom. The edge of the meadow where the loved are laid to rest is a dark evergreen this time of year. They lay the cloth over his face. Katniss and Prim let their handfuls of dirt fall over the wrappings. Mrs. Everdeen throws a flower in. The pallbearers cover the corpse with the cold, fresh earth. Hazelle Hawthorne helps my grieving mother-in-law away from the mound. Prim starts to cry and falls to her knees. She is carried away by Gale Hawthorne.

I watch Katniss stare at the grave. The sounds of the other mourners are fading from the meadow.

She turns around to face me.

"Does the pain stop? Ever?" she asks.

I squeeze the tears from my eyes. I feel my mother's soft hand in my own. I can't lie to her.

"No. It just becomes a part of you."

She nods. "Thank you."

I reach out for her. She takes my hand. I lead her back to the house.

She sits with Prim for hours. They say nothing. There is nothing to say. The guests leave when it grows late.

She stands and kisses her sister on the cheek. "He's not in pain anymore," she whispers.

"He knows we loved him," Prim whispers back.

We walk home in silence. As we get to the bakery, my father pulls me aside in the kitchen.

"Thank you. For giving her the coat."

"I just thought..."

"I know," he sighs. "It's doing good now. You are your mother's son. Doing good." He rests his warm, cracked palm on my cheek. "You are taking good care of her, Peeta. Your heart always knows what to do."

When I reach the bedroom, she's already lying down. I wash up as quickly as possible to not leave her alone. I crawl in next to her. My fingers find hers. She grips my hand in the darkness.

* * *

"Peeta?" My father calls me into the kitchen. "Would you come in here?"

I glance over at Katniss. She can read the cookbook now, but she's not. She's just staring at the paper. "Katniss?"

She jumps, surprised that I was there. I give her a weak smile. "I'm going to help my dad. I'll be right back."

"Okay."

She's already gone again. It's been a month since the funeral. It was like our first few weeks had returned. The silence. The sorrow. We'd started practicing with the book again, so she'd have something focus on. Get up. Get dressed. Make breads. Learn the recipes. I always hold her hand as she falls asleep.

I know this routine.

"How's she doing?" my father murmurs as I appear in the doorway.

"Quiet."

He smiles. "I, um. I found something. I thought you might want to practice this. Instead of the book."

He hands over the piece of paper gripped in his hand. I open it. I read a few lines.

"Dad-"

"Just take it. She needs to hear these things. You do too," he whispers.

I shuffle back to the sofa. "I have something new to read."

She looks up. "New?"

I nod and carefully lower myself next to her. I hand her the paper. She unfolds it.

"Dear Anna—lissee?"

"Annalise. It was my mother's name."

"Annalise." She frowns. "You are my…per-perfect match. Like a…flower…flower?...in the night, I could not see until your light…opened my…eyes." Her face softens. "Oh."

"They used to write letters." I smile involuntarily. "Even though they lived next door to one another. She would read them to us. It made her happy.""

She nods. "I feel…wha-whole," she reads. "I feel like…myself…with you. I can be myself with you." She wipes her eyes. "You see me as I am, im..imperfect..imperfections compared to your per…fection. I am…fortunate. Lucky. Blessed. I...I am loved."

Katniss swallows hard and the paper lowers into her lap. "Peeta."

"Yes?"

"Do you…like…my imperfections?"

I stare. "What imperfections?"

"Don't tease," she pouts.

"I'm not!"

She looks up at me. She searches my face. "I…you are a good match. I…you take good care of me. My clothes don't fit anymore," she murmurs, tugging on the waistband of her pants. "You gave me your mother's coat."

"I want to take care of you."

She crumples before me.

"Katniss?"

She shakes her head. She covers her face. I pull her in close to me.

"She stopped taking care of us," she chokes out. Her jaw moves against my chest. "My dad and my sister. And me. She didn't want to anymore. He tried for so long. He's gone," she sobs. "I wanted...so much more time."

I hold her close. "You always would Katniss. No matter how much time you had."

She listens. I steady my voice. I haven't talked about her in more than a year.

"My mother was sick for a long time. A very long time," I repeat. "The disease was too far along when she felt sick to do anything. Even if she had wanted to take medicine to postpone death." Katniss looks up at me with these words.

I swallow back against the lump. "She didn't want us to suffer with her," I force out. "She told me she was happy with the time she'd had with us and she didn't want to put us through a time when we'd be unhappy watching her die. It still took a long time, but..." I wipe my streaming eyes.

"Katniss, it hurts because you loved him so much. It hurts because you were so happy with him. It hurts because you wanted to take care of him forever. But we don't have forever. We only have the time we have. And you made his time so full of love that he couldn't have had another moment and been any happier than the last."

She draws a shaking breath. I watch her swallow back a sob.

"You did everything. There's nothing more you could have done. Nothing. And..." I struggle to find the words. "I want to take care of you now," I repeat. "I want to. I want you to be happy too," I whisper.

She quiets.

"I don't know how to take care of you," she whispers.

I blink. I tuck my chin down to look at her. "What?"

"I want to take care of you too. I want to, Peeta. I don't want to live like I did before."

I watch a tear move from the corner of her eye. It wanders down her hot cheek to slide along her jawbone. "What do I do?" she asks.

I sit quietly and think. I frown. "Just…"

"Just go...hunting."

"What?" She sits up.

"Um. Be a hunter. Be...a Seam girl...rooting through our trash," I mumble at her surprise that I knew. "Play with the honey jar in the sunbeam. Just...be you. I like that."

She doesn't look like she believes me, but she smiles for the first time in a month.


	7. Chapter 7

_Most of you already figured out where this chapter would be going :) _

**Chapter 7: Katniss' POV**

At first I came into the woods to talk to my father. I would walk out forty meters to the worn stump and sit down. I would tell him how much I miss him. I wish he was there to look after Prim. I wish he was there to look after Mother.

I wish he was there to see how well I was looked after. I wish he could see and hear how well I am taken care of. I wish he knew my husband.

Finally, I'd become aware that I was talking to myself. He was at peace. I was restless.

Just over a month after his suffering ended, I started taking the letters in the woods. I re-read them. Every morning. It's a different sort of longing. Savarin's letters are loving and sometimes funny; he liked to make Annalise laugh. Her letters are sweet and coy, teasing and fond. I want to know the hand that wrote the words. I want to know the woman who loved her family the way my father loved me.

I see Peeta in her words.

I sigh as I watch a squirrel chase its mate across the forest floor. She chirps and ducks up a tree, holding up the acorn and telling him to follow. They fly from tree to tree, soaring over the earth below.

I thought love was all work. I know it was for Mother and Father. We had so little. We had to work every minute to stay alive. It is hard on love. I wonder if my notion of love would be different if I had grown up with food. It seems easier for the Savarin and Annalise in the letters. It seems easier for Cob and Fern.

Sometimes it seems easier for me and Peeta.

We don't argue about money. We don't say hurtful things. We hardly say anything, I realize, but not out of spite. It's just that we don't need the words. He puts too much food on my plate. I hog the blankets. Neither of us complain. We are surrounded by happiness. We have enough; if not plenty. Peeta hides a loaf from each batch to make sure there will be stale bread found to be given away to beggars.

I smile when I think of him.

I climb to my feet and head into the woods.

* * *

Cob blinks. "This might be too much."

We stand in a circle around the surplus ice chest in the corner of the dining room. I'm holding two cuts of wild boar. Fern holds another. Peeta is pulling cuts of meat aside, trying to see if there's more room to be found. He turns to his father.

"Can you cook anymore?"

"I'm out of stove," he says dryly.

He's been at work all afternoon trying to manage my pull. I butchered the fat boar out back, Fern fretting at the site of her frozen flower beds sprinkled with blood. I took half to the Hob, pulling the meat in an old toy wagon of Peeta's. I'd sold ten pounds of meat on the road before I even got to Sae's. I don't know what to do with the money the Mellarks tell me to keep.

I came home to find the kitchen blazing; chops frying on the burners next to a pot of boiling soup, ribs broiling in the oven and Cob and Peeta struggling to arrange the remaining meat in the storage freezer.

"What are we going to do with all this?" Cob frowns. We stand in silence.

"Can I take some to Prim?"

Peeta looks up at me.

"She loves boar," I say.

"Take her the steaks and half of this soup," Mr. Mellark calls easily over his shoulder. "And whatever's in your hand there."

Peeta stands up. "Those oatmeal cookies are going a bit stale. We should take those too."

"And take this," Fern says, rushing to the rocking chair in the living room. "It's my first knitting project and it's dreadful, I hate looking at it." She thrusts over a beautiful purple hat upon which she embroidered a small gold flower. It's perfect.

I stammer in embarrassment.

"And here's two loaves of bread," Savarin says, pushing a basket into my arms. He coughs politely. "Your mother didn't stop by last week or today so far."

I frown. She's never late.

I wear Annalise's coat over clean clothes. Peeta changed his shirt, too. He likes to impress my family. I like that about him.

We set out in the late winter. The breeze betrays spring in the coming weeks. I imagine I will see nests in trees and burrows overruns with rabbits soon. I wonder if Peeta wants children.

I glance sideways at him. He pulls the wagon overloaded with food. It was heavy and chafing my hand. He gave me the loaves to carry and took the wagon. He is stronger than the crutch suggests. He keeps it secret. I think I like that too.

I think I like how soft his hair is when he rolls over at night and it brushes my shoulders. I think I like how he teases his brother even though they are grown. I think I like how when he tries not to laugh at something he snorts a little.

I like that he never lies to me.

I like that the door to the shower can't quite close all the way.

I swallow hard and focus on the ground in front of me. My neck feels hot.

"What song?" I ask.

"Sorry?"

"What song? Do you like? For me to sing?" I stammer.

He nearly trips. "Bluebird."

I smile. "I like that song."

He's blushing. "Me too."

We walk.

I sing.

_"Bluebird, high up in the treetop,_

_Do you sing for me? Do you sing for me?_

_Singing, sweeter than a dewdrop,_

_Do you sing for me? Do you sing for me?_

_Or do you sing for my love far, far away?_

_Will you guide him home for me to stay?_

_Bluebird, high up in the treetop,_

_Show him the way."_

Peeta sniffles. He wipes his nose. I watch him.

"She sang that for me. When I got hurt. I thought I was going to die. She kept singing," he whispers. "She said the bluebird would keep me safe at home with her."

I touch the pin of the bird on my coat.

"Katniss."

I look back up. He's stopped dead.

I look at my family's house.

I didn't know Peeta could run, but he does. It's not steady but he moves deftly with the crutch in a modified hopping jog. I throw the bread onto the abandoned wagon and run after him.

He's at the open door. "Hello? Prim? Mrs. Everdeen?"

"Prim! Prim!" I scream.

But I already know. The house has been deserted. The goat pen is empty.

They're gone.

Peeta has me sit on the wagon until I can breathe again. Spots are still dashing about before my eyes.

"Where are they?" I gasp. "Where-"

"Breathe," he hushes me, wrapping his arms around me and holding me into his ribs. "I will find them."

"Prim," I cry out.

"Katniss." He lowers his eyes to mine. "I will find her."

I meet his gaze. I know he does not lie.

"Let's take this food into town." He grits his teeth and says, "We'll trade for information today."

The wagon draws a lot of attention. I see faces in windows, eyeing our cargo with great interest. The town drunk stumbles up from his perch by the monument built on the site of the old gallows and ambles over to us.

"Whatcha got there, blondie?" Haymitch Abernathy sniffs.

"Wild boar."

"For sale?"

"For trade."

Haymitch narrows his brows.

"Where's Evelyn Everdeen?" Peeta leans in.

"Your mama?"

I nod.

"I haven't seen her. Personally," he adds.

I freeze.

"What do you mean?" Peeta asks quickly.

"I mean I can't say I saw her with my own eyes."

"What did someone else's eyes see?" I ask.

He glances to our wagon. I rip a package of chops off the cart and hit him in the chest with the paper. "What did they see?" I demand.

"She's been seen with the mayor." He can't look at me when he says it.

"She was treating his wife." I frown. "For the migraines."

Peeta's head whips around to look at me. Haymitch stares at the floor.

"Katniss," Peeta whispers. "Mrs. Undersee died three months ago."

I stagger. "What?"

"It wasn't migraines, she had a mass on her brain," Haymitch mumbles. "Died in her sleep, thankfully. Daughter found her the next morning."

"Madge."

"Yeah, that's her name," Haymitch says quietly. He shuffles his feet. I stare at his coat. There's a small burn on the lapel. He must have dropped cigarette ash on the fabric. It's a perfect circle.

Haymitch nods awkwardly. Peeta gives him a dismissal, freeing him from this terrible moment. He walks away.

"At the funeral...he was there."

"I know, Katniss."

"He looked me in the face!" I scream. He stands and lets me stamp my feet and shriek.

People retreat from their windows.

I let my shoulders drop. At least he has money. They have shelter. They have food. Madge was always kind to Prim.

She didn't love my father for a long time.

Peeta's hands are on my shoulder. "Do you want to go home?" he asks.

I nod weakly.

"I'll be right there," he murmurs. "I'll take this to the children's shelter." He gestures to the wagon. "I'll follow you right after." He collects the handle of the wagon and repositions his crutch.

"No."

He glances at me.

"No," I repeat. "I'll go with you."

"You don't have to," he offers.

"I'll go with you," I repeat.

I can't bear to be alone.

The building we walk to sits on the unspoken boundary between the Merchant Quarter and the Seam. Both neighborhoods have contributed to its population. There are chipped and fading letters on the side of the doorframe that read "Community Home," but no one calls it that anymore. The oldest inhabitants are the war orphans, left alone by the bloody revolution, but hard times and poverty have kept them company. The smallest tend to be left by parents who can't bear to see their children hungry or cold anymore.

They always need donations.

Fern's hat goes to the little red-haired girl who opens the door for us. She pulls it down over her ears and gives us a grin of missing baby teeth. I watch her run clumsily to the office in the lobby yelling that the nice man with the cane is back. I raise my eyebrow. I didn't know he'd come here before when he was in town.

Peeta shakes his head. He doesn't mind the nickname here. The hurt inside me softens a bit.

Her announcement brings a thunder of footsteps and a dozen scruffy children trip their way into the lobby.

"Peeta, do you remember me?" asks a scrawny boy with startling lavender eyes. "I helped hand out the bread last time you were here."

"You did, Auger," Peeta says. The boy melts with adoration. "Will you help divide up these cookies for everyone? You might have to break them in half so everyone gets a piece."

"Yes, sir!" Auger grabs the bag. The children go quiet circling around the boy and wait with electric anticipation for their cookie.

"Peeta."

A soft voice turns my head. "You've been gone for so long, we were worried about you."

Peeta blushes. I bristle at the beautiful woman reaching to embrace him. Her hair is a halo of tight black corkscrews, framing skin the color of fresh cinnamon. Her perfect nose is dotted with freckles. Her eyes are the color of rich chocolate icing.

I tug at my plain braid.

"Is this Katniss?" she breathes as she releases him. He nods eagerly. "You are just as beautiful as he said," she beams, sweeping me into an unexpected embrace. "Peeta, she's just divine."

"Now, now, Portia. Let her breathe," another gentle voice interrupts.

Portia smiles and lets me escape back to Peeta's side. A graceful man approaches and extends his hand.

"Cinna," he grins. He takes my hand in his. "A pleasure to meet the woman who has made our Peeta so happy."

Peeta taps his crutch against his shoe in embarrassment. "This is Portia's brother, Cinna," he mumbles. "They run the shelter."

The cookies distributed, children scatter in the hallway. Portia sighs. "You always bring them sugar right before study hour. Okay kids! Everyone out on the playground! Time for tag."

She chases them outside to get hats over their ears and mittens down onto little fingers amongst protests that it's too warm for scarves.

Cinna chuckles. "And what is all this?" he asks of the wagon.

"Katniss is a hunter," Peeta murmurs. "She got a boar. We brought it to share."

"Boar?" Cinna's eyes are wide. "A little thing like you?"

I nod. I'm hardly little anymore. My shirt buttons gap slightly over my chest under the coat.

He whistles. "I thought Peeta was bragging, but you are a catch, aren't you?"

My face burns brighter. I try to contain the smile.

Portia returns breathless and Peeta wheels the cart down to the freezer in their large cafeteria. Cinna and Portia graciously lead the conversation, talking about how well the children are doing, who's left them for homes, a new baby that the kids wanted to name Peppermint.

"We call her Pepper for short," Cinna laughs.

My eyebrows must have risen to high when he leans in and says, "We put Patricia on the paperwork." He nudges my elbow playfully.

"That's it!" Portia cries out. "Okay, it's all in. I'll hold the piles steady, Peeta you close the door."

It takes three tries to close the freezer.

"Whew!" Portia leans against it and wipes her brow in jest. "You spoil us." She smiles at me.

"I'll bring you more," I blurt out.

Cinna's eyebrows rise. "Please don't feel obligated, dear," he says softly.

"I can help. I should help." I start to stammer, knowing Peeta is watching me. "I...I was hungry. For a long time. I...I have enough now. More than enough."

"We won't say no," Portia says. "Peeta's been such a help, but these kids will eat you out of house and home."

"You don't have to say no." I jam my hand into my pocket. "Please take this too." I hold out sixty coins I earned from the boar in town.

"Oh no, dear," Portia shakes her head. "That's far too much. We can't take that."

"I don't need it," I insist. I look at Peeta. "I have everything I need."

Cinna glances at Peeta and Portia. He hesitates. I step forward and push the coins into Portia's hand.

"Thank you. Thank you so much. This is...thank you," Portia says in wonderment.

"Thank you, my dear," Cinna breathes. "You will be an honored guest any time you visit us. And please know you can stop any time," he adds. "I mean, when you are busy with your own children." He smiles warmly.

My eyes must have gotten wider than I could control. I can see Peeta's expression is clouded.

"We should go," he mutters. "Dad is expecting us."

"Of course," Cinna says. "Please give him our best. And Fern for her 'practice scarves.'"

Peeta nods and Portia hugs him goodbye. She embraces me, kissing my cheek. "Thank you," she whispers again in my ear.

Cinna hugs me too and they wave us goodbye. As we walk past the fence in the yard, the children wave and call goodbye to Peeta and "the woman with the braid."

We are quiet on the walk back, pulling the empty wagon.

I miss my mother. I miss Prim. I know they are better off, but I want to see them again.

I am grateful to be with my husband. His soul is better than mine. Even with the darkness in our lives he has never given up. He makes me want to be a stronger person.

To be so sad, so appreciative, so lonely, so proud at the same is confusing.

I think I want children.


	8. Chapter 8

_This chapter is the M-rated version for FF; the MA-rated version will be on the DustWriterFics blog when I've finished posting the full story here. _

**Chapter 8: Peeta's POV**

"We're moving out." Fern is nearly bursting at the seams. Cob is practically jumping off his seat.

My father is devastated. "What?"

"Oh, Dad," Fern rushes, "it's not a bad thing." She can't contain her smile. "Cob, you say it."

"No, you!"

"No, you!" she laughs.

"Together?" She agrees. They hold hands.

"We've applied for a baby!"

My father drops his fork. Katniss's brows furrow in confusion. I suddenly understand.

"We were at the shelter," Ferns explains quickly.

"Dropping off Fern's scarves," Cob continues.

"There's a baby they call Peppermint," Fern glows.

"She's so beautiful," Cob whimpers.

"I couldn't put her down."

"She smiled at me!"

"We asked to be considered for her parents," Fern cries.

"We filled out an application!" Cob bursts out.

My dad is crying. "Peppermint!" he sobs. "I'm going to have a granddaughter named Peppermint."

I look at the blubbering mess of my family. "You're leaving?" I manage.

"Well, when we find a place nearby," Cob rushes on. "Cinna and Portia have to evaluate the new home for the child. But when we find our own place and that's done we can bring her home!"

"_If_ we get approved," Fern cautions.

"_When_ we get approved," he tells her.

"You can stay here," Dad says eagerly. "You don't have to move; we raised you boys here."

"Dad," Fern laughs, "we can't put a baby in the storage room. And what would we do when Peeta and Katniss start a family?"

Katniss and I sit in silence.

"They can stay, too," my father insists.

Cob rolls his eyes good-naturedly. "Dad, this house would be overrun. Besides we have to find a place first. You have time to get used to this," he teases.

My father agrees, but I can see he's already trying to figure out how to keep them here. He and my mother were hopeless for babies. Whenever an infant was brought to the store, all work stopped for five minutes to coo. Cob's child is going to be spoiled rotten if they let my father near her.

Katniss shifts in her chair as my father asks about Peppermint's birthday. I'm sure he wants to send out baby announcements to the entire District. I glance at Katniss. She's holding her stomach.

"Are you all right?" I whisper.

"Yes."

"Katniss, will you help me? I've never set up a nursery before." Fern's voice breaks through our isolation.

"Me?"

"Wasn't your mother a healer?" she asks. "Did you help her with new babies?"

"Prim was better," Katniss tells the tablecloth. "I folded blankets and collected diaper fabric."

"That's all right," Fern says. "I just want someone there to keep Cob calm when we put a crib together."

"Hey!"

They laugh. We sit. I wonder if Katniss wants children.

I don't think I do.

* * *

We lay in bed, side by side, every night. We touch while we sleep. I find her head on my shoulder, hair blanketing her eyes. Some mornings I wake as she stirs under my arm.

But tonight she is not asleep.

"Katniss?"

She turns her head to mine and I can see the moonlight in her eyes. I don't know what to say.

She looks back to the window.

"Prim would be better," she says finally. "To help Fern."

"You're brave, too."

"Do you want children?" she asks suddenly.

"I...I don't know," I mumble.

"Do you want me?" she whispers.

I can't breathe for a moment.

"Yes," I force out.

We lay in the dark for a moment. I don't know what to do.

She rolls onto her side. She kisses my cheek.

I turn to her. She kisses my mouth. She meets my eyes.

* * *

I can't concentrate. I've rearranged the biscuits on this baking sheet so many times. I look up. Cob is giving me a strange look from the storefront door.

"You done with those?" he smirks.

I roll the stool over to the door. "I've got to go."

"Where?"

"To town."

Cob eyes me. "What's going on?"

"Nothing."

He smiles. "Nothing?"

"I'll be back."

"What do I tell Katniss when she gets back from hunting?"

"I'll be back."

I push the crutch into the softening earth. The land isn't frozen anymore, but the morning air has a bite to it. Katniss will need new clothes soon. Last year's are falling apart from being layered over and over again all winter.

She gave me everything. I want to give her everything she wants. I want to give her the one thing she wants.

She didn't flinch at the scarred flesh her fingers found last night. I can still feel her hands under my shirt. Her nightdress bunched in my fist at her waist. Her whimper and gasp in my ear. Her forehead hot against mine as we lay panting in the dark.

We finally consummated our marriage. I can't remember feeling this light.

The mayor's house lies in the center of the Merchant Quarter; a sprawling house just a few yards off of the center of the trading area. It used to be so he could oversee legal trades; now it's just because this is the only area spacious enough to accommodate all the carts. It's early and the shopkeepers are just setting out their wares, but I'm sure he's up. He likes early morning strolls through town when the weather is fair; I've seen him outside myself when I have to deliver cakes for baby showers.

I struggle up the short rough-hewn stone staircase to his front door. I catch my breath.

I grip the iron knocker and let it fall against the door. The pale girl with ice blue eyes answers.

"Peeta," breathes Madge Undersee. "Hello. It's been too long."

Six years, I count. "Yes," I reply. Her face isn't what I remember. "I'm sorry to hear about your mother."

She nods. "Thank you." It's a strangled mumble. I do not mention the replacement in her bed.

"Is Primrose Everdeen here?"

She blinks. "Prim?"

"Yes," I cough. "I had heard...she might be...around."

Madge's shoulders fall and I see the rage she holds within. "No."

I start. "What?"

"She," Madge bites at the word hatefully, "did not bring Prim with her."

I nearly fall.

"She came alone."

Madge's knuckles are white on the door handle.

"What did she do with her?"

"I don't know," Madge says miserably. "She didn't say when I asked. Maybe gave her to another family? Maybe left her. I don't speak to her anymore." She looks back into her house and then back to me. She leans in.

"If you find Prim," she whispers, "tell her I want to go with her. Wherever." Madge's eyes redden. "I want to go."

I nod, I understand. Madge sighs and closes the door, sealing her tomb.

I stagger back from the door.

Prim is not safe. She is missing. What will I tell Katniss?

I try to think of what to say. I think of nothing. Instead I go to the marketplace. Up and down the aisles, I know I am nearly two hours late for work. Katniss can cover; she can read the book now. Dad can knead. I have to look. I look.

I make my way to the Seam marketplace. Up and down the aisles. Asking. Questioning. Pleading.

I corner Haymitch Abernathy, but even he knows nothing of the missing girl. He is terrified as I grab his collar and shake him.

"You tell me what you know!"

"I don't know anything, I swear!"

I square off with him to search his eyes before releasing him. He stands, wary of my balled fists. I let the air out of my lungs.

"Where is she?" I ask no one and anyone.

"Did..."

I look up.

Haymitch swallows hard. "Did you check the Board?"

I nearly fall moving as fast as I can. I'm tallying up the money we have saved up for Fern and Cob's baby room. It's barely 100 coins, but we can buy a maid for that.

I stop short. The Board has been cleared. All auctions from last month are down. The slate is waiting for the newest crop of unfortunates.

I sigh. I shake my head.

She is beautiful. Like her sister. We would have heard.

I stumble home, feeling useless. Defeated. What will I say?

"Peeta!" My father shouts with relief as I walk in the door. It's past our lunch break. I smell turkey baking. "Where have you been?"

Katniss has run to the door, her brows are knit with concern. I have to look at my shoes.

"Prim..."

Her hand is at her throat.

"She's not at the mayor's. She's...missing."

A beat passes. Katniss holds her pose. She does not move. She does not breathe. My father reaches for her. She shoves his hands away. Her eyes are wild. Her fists are clenching and unclenching. She is stooped, bent under the weight of the news. She stumbles backwards, then turns, lurching in agony.

The scream rips through the bakery.

Fern and Cob break a door hinge running in the kitchen.

She's on her knees now, palms flat on the ground, back hunched. The noise echoing off the floor threatens to deafen us. Cob drags her to our room. I lay her face down on the pillow. The screams go on and on.

* * *

"Katniss?"

Her eyes are dull.

"I will find her."

* * *

I wander the Merchant market in the morning while Katniss searches the woods. Cob takes the afternoon shift in the Seam; he can walk further. Fern asks quietly after Prim to every customer that walks in the shop. We arrive home empty-handed every night. The life returning to Katniss has gone from hopeful to hollow. Fear creases her brow. She bites her fingers. I rub salve on them when they bleed.

We haven't read a love letter in days.

The ninth morning that Katniss sets off into the woods with a torch instead of a bow, my father pulls me aside as I head out to the Merchant marketplace.

"Peeta, if she's gone…"

"I can't think that way."

"But if she's gone."

"She's not gone!" I surprise him and myself with the shout. He waits. I breathe hard, slowing my heart. "She's not gone," I whisper. "She's waiting for us to find her." I push past him out the door. I know he's preparing me. Preparing us.

Through the fire, through the surgery, through the recovery, my mother was always there. The nights my father would have to go into the garden to sob, she'd still be my side. She held my hand. She sang to me. She promised she'd never let me go. When I was too ashamed to go into the storefront she taught me the recipes in the back kitchen. She said I didn't have to go back to school if I didn't want to; she'd teach me everything while I was safe at home. She didn't want me to go back. I didn't.

Cob and Dad were too close to it; they blamed themselves too much. She didn't blame anyone. She just loved and protected me. And then she faded away. And then she was gone.

Katniss had spoken quietly the morning after her father's funeral. We lay in bed and listen to the birds outside chirping, singing as though her heart wasn't broken.

"He protected me and Prim," she whispered to my ear. "We never realized how bad we had it until we were well into school. We were clothed, sheltered. As well fed as we could be. I was happy," she sighs. "Then he got sick…"

She sniffed.

"My mother…she was tired. She was so tired of the fight. Fighting against the hunger. Fighting the cold. Fighting the sickness. She gave up on us," she choked. "Prim and I fought so hard and she gave up. Prim kept me going. Prim-"

"Katniss," I begged, running my palm along her arm. "Don't."

"Did he die for us?"

I twist to look in her eyes.

"Did he fight so hard he killed himself? For me?"

"Katniss. He lived for you."

She was grateful. I've never lied to her.

"Did your mother live for you?"

"Yes."

"She loved you," she sighs out a shuddering breath. "It comes through you. Like spring at the end of a hard winter."

I haven't felt beautiful in a long time. She found the part of me that hadn't forgotten it was possible.

I live for Katniss. I have to find Prim.

We both have already lost too much.

* * *

It's getting very late. I should have set our for home earlier; it's still dark early these days. I push my way over to the apple seller to buy a bag; I can arrive home at least with something for my father. It hasn't been easy having me gone for the better part of the day every day for two weeks. He would never ask me to stop looking, so he just works harder. He loves Katniss too.

I drop the coins into the fruits vendor's hand and toss the bag over my shoulder. Its weight spins me.

I see the flash of blond hair whipping behind the coal fuel cart. I'm sure of it. Long, blond hair. In a dirty, mussed braid. Then it is gone.

I frown. I thank the teller distractedly. I move after the vision. I round the corner beyond the fuel cart. There is no one there. I look around. I know what I saw.

I look behind; to the right and left. There is no other blond hair this close to the Seam boundary. I know I saw it. I continue in the line I saw the figure with the braid running. I have to be certain. For Katniss.

I walk nearly twenty yards from the marketplace into a derelict part of town splitting the Seam and the Merchant Quarter. There are no houses here; abandoned storage shacks litter a field littered with weeds and nettles. There is a larger, dark structure in the distance.

The door hangs ajar.

I have seen this structure before, but it takes a moment before I recognize the ruined building. It used to house coal, my father told me. The miners brought loads here to store, closer to the train station and easier to guard by the men called Peacekeepers. I think they do the same work as our police, but Dad says they did it in a much different way. He shudders and looks away. He doesn't talk much about the times before the revolution.

The war changed many things. Many things are left to change.

I step through the rotting door hanging off its rusted hinges. The floor is scattered with disused equipment. Nearly all the windows have been broken and it reeks of mildew. Animal nests and burrows are tucked in the rafters.

I take another step inside. I call out. "Hello?"

Footsteps move. Quick, shallow breathing. Panic strikes me. It might not be a human in here. Wild dogs have broken through the fence before.

I shake it off. I have to be certain. I slip forward slowly.

"Hello?"

There's a quiet intake of air. Someone is hiding from me. I move towards the noise. A moldy tarp is draped over a cart with cracked wheels. I step slowly. The weeds pushing up through the rotted floor cushion my crutch. The tarp moves slightly. I hold my breath.

I yank it back.

She cries out. Her hair is limp and greasy. Her dress was once cream, but it now is a faded grey brown. A few pieces of fuzzy blue bread and dried apple cores surround her muddy shoes. She struggles to the edge of the cart. She's going to try to run, but she's not quick like Katniss or strong like me. I catch her arm and keep her in front of me.

"Primrose! Prim, it's me. It's Peeta."

She stops pulling against my arm. She sits on the tailgate with her dirty legs dangling. She squints. "Peeta?"

I stare at the lost girl in front of me. I nod.

"Peeta," she realizes.

She begins to cry. In relief. In sorrow. At everything all at once. I am caught off guard when she lunges forward and throws her arms around my neck. She cries against my heart.

I take my coat off and put it around her shoulders. I help her down to the ground. I try to guide her to the door. She huddles into me, hiding her face as we slip outside. I push her mouth into my chest when she can't stop crying; I want to keep her secret and hidden. I lead her through the shortcut Katniss taught me.

The woods are my refuge too.

* * *

The tears have grown to exhausted hysteria by the time we reach the bakery. I can't keep her quiet much longer. Prim is frantic and confused and relieved and overwhelmed. And starving. By the last few steps, she is smearing tears and saliva onto my shirt and I hold her steady with my free arm to keep her upright.

"Shhh, Prim. Please shhh. Just a few more steps. See? You're home." She cries harder.

I shove open the door with my crutch and haul her over the threshold.

"Peeta? What's this?" My father runs in at the sound of screaming sobs. He stares.

I hear footsteps from upstairs, tumbling to the steps. She would have recognized the tears. Her eyes are wide when she sees her little sister.

"Prim!" she shrieks and runs to her as Prim falls from my side into her arms. Katniss envelops her and rocks her back and forth, gripping her while she wails. Prim rips the sleeve of Katniss' shirt as she grips it tighter and tighter. Katniss watches me, exhaling 'thank you' over and over in rhythm as she rocks.

Fern's eyes are wide. "I'll draw her a bath," she says quickly, running for the stairs. "Cob, heat some food for her!"

Dad has to wrestle Prim away from Katniss to carry her upstairs to the larger bathroom. Katniss holds her hand around my father's arm. She stays upstairs to help her bathe.

Fern takes towels and a nightgown to them. Cob and I sit with my father at the dining room table, listening to a hiccuping and tearful voice stuttering and sobbing in intervals through the walls.

Fern stumbles downstairs a short while later.

"She was sold," she says, her face pale. "Her mother put her up for a maid auction." Her jaw twitches. "He wasn't looking for a maid."

Everything is black again. I feel too hot. The world seems on fire. Cob is shaking my arm. "Peeta?"

I am yanked back to the present. I crushed the tin mug I was holding. Tea is all over the table. I stare at the mangled tin ball in my hand. I didn't even feel it.

"We should call a doctor," Dad stands quickly.

"I woke up," Prim says softly from the stairs. Our eyes turn to the teenager Katniss is helping down the stairs. "He had a cat. It started to sleep on my bed. He came into my room one night." Her voice quivers. "The cat hissed at him. I woke up. If the cat hadn't woken me," she pauses. "I got out the window. I ran. I hid where I thought he wouldn't find me."

"Who was it?" I demand.

"Azimuth Gilder."

Katniss turns white. I know that name too. He had a wife called Bristel before.

"Primrose, sit down," Dad pulls out the chair so she can have his seat. "Cob made chicken pot pie for dinner; it's the best in the District."

Cob jumps to his feet and pulls a small dish from the oven. Prim stands motionless. I move over to her. With Katniss' nod of permission, I push her to the chair. She uses the fork for about a quarter the pie before she abandons it for a soup spoon and her hands to get more into her mouth. Katniss wets a dishtowel to wipe her face and hands down like a small child when Fern clears her plate.

The lavender bags under Prim's eyes grow more visible.

Katniss helps her to her feet and leads her out of the kitchen. Cob clears her plate. I follow them to the living room. Katniss guides Prim to the sofa. She sits heavily; her eyelids drooping. "May I have blankets for the sofa?" Katniss whispers to my father at the door.

"You and Prim take our room," I murmur. "I'll stay out here."

She glances back to me.

"She needs you by her side."

She nods gratefully. Dad helps Prim back up and Katniss opens the door to our bedroom until the stairs.

I finally notice she's wrapped Prim in my robe.

The same robe Katniss wore when she came home.


	9. Chapter 9

_Again, the ever-so-slightly expanded MA version of this chapter will be up on my fics blog shortly._

**Chapter 9: Katniss' POV**

I don't sleep well. I hear a cat mewling and wake with a start, but it's only my dreams. No one is here to hurt Prim. Here in my arms, she is safe again.

My jaw aches from where I clench my teeth. Our mother sold her. She sold my little sister. My rage boils and scalds me.

Prim stirs and moans and I grip her tighter.

"You are safe," I whisper to her scalp. "You're home."

I drift in and out. A knock wakes me far too soon. Prim bolts up, terrified and alert. I smooth her hair and sit up. "Yes?"

"I need some clothes," Peeta's gentle voice replies.

"Come in," I tell him. Prim lays back down. I rub her back as he enters the cramped room. Peeta nods solemnly. He collects his clothes and moves quickly into the bathroom.

"Will they let me stay?" Prim's voice is small and scared. "I don't want to go."

"They won't make you go, Prim," I say firmly.

"Are you sure?"

Another knocks startles her.

"Prim? Katniss? Are you up?"

"Come in, Fern."

"I didn't wake you, did I?"

"No."

"Good. Prim, do you like plain or winterberry pancakes? We have a bit of syrup so Dad is making a pile."

Prim blinks. "Syrup? From trees?"

"Yes," Fern replies slowly, trying to think if there is another type of syrup she doesn't know.

"Berry," Prim whispers.

"Okay!" Fern replies sweetly. "Katniss, could you loan Prim something to wear? I haven't had a chance to go into town to find something for her. Go ahead and leave your dress with the washing, honey; Cob will take care of it this afternoon." She hums as she closes the door behind her.

Prim stays still in disbelief. I smile.

Peeta exits the bathroom fully dressed and nods at us before slipping out of the bathroom.

"I like Peeta," Prim confesses quietly. "He found me. Is he good to you?"

There aren't words enough to express how good. "Very good," I force out. "More than...yes."

Prim looks relieved. "Good."

She's so small she easily fits alongside me in our tiny bathroom in our cupboard. My clothes are too big for her now. She stares at me while I dress.

"What?"

"You...have..." she stutters. "You're not...flat anymore," she notes with surprise.

I stare down. "Oh," I flush.

"It's not a bad thing," she says quickly.

"I know," I mumble.

"And you have hips," she murmurs enviously.

I run my hands over my stomach. It has shape now. I twirl in my underwear to make her smile.

"Katniss?" She sounds nervous.

"Yes?"

"Are you...are you happy?"

It's like a lightning bolt on a dark night. Everything in the dim light is suddenly illuminated and I can see the landscape of my new life clearly. I am home with my family.

"I am," I realize. "I'm happy, Prim."

She sighs out slowly.

"What?"

"I want to be happy," she says. She's still afraid.

"You will be," I tell her firmly.

"Girls! Breakfast!" calls Savarin.

Prim is shy again when we leave the shelter of the room under the stairs. She hides behind me as we enter the dining area. Peeta rolls his stool over so there are enough chairs for all of us. Prim moves to sit on it and he rolls her to the table. Cob hands her a plate with four pancakes stacked high on it. Her eyebrows rise.

"She can't eat all that yet," I tell him softly, taking the plate and giving her a serving of two pancakes. "Not yet," I repeat.

She is quiet as she nibbles. The servings of fruit and real butter on the table bewilder her. I worry she might faint when Savarin hands her a glass of milk.

She moves to do the dishes when breakfast is over. I let her know Peeta does them. He smiles at her as she takes a step backward and fists her hands uselessly. She doesn't know what to do either.

"She should eat more," Savarin mutters from behind me.

Cob laughs. "She'll catch up to Katniss," he assures his father.

I flush again as he pokes me in the stomach. I rub the tender spot. Prim watches us tease. She frowns.

"Do you want to help in the storefront?" Fern asks Prim. She looks around the kitchen. "I'm not sure if another person will fit back here."

"I can help up front," she volunteers quickly. She wants to stay so badly.

Savarin doesn't need convincing. "Well," he grins. "Let me give you the grand tour!" He drapes an arm around her hunched shoulders and guides her into the storefront.

Cob rolls his eyes.

"Don't laugh," Fern hisses. "Now he can be distracted while we pack!"

"Pack?" Peeta looks up from the dishes.

Cob grins. "We found out the place across the street – with the blue shutters? – will be ready in three weeks. It has lots of open space, so we can divvy it up for more kids!"

I smile, but I'm thinking of Cob's clumsy handiwork as he tries to put up new walls inside a home. Peeta will need to help him. I glance over at my husband. He's surprised but nods at them. He meets my eyes. I look away. We haven't talked about children again.

"Let's get through one first," Fern beams. "I can't wait."

"Me neither."

"Finally we have more girls in this house," Fern laughs. "Now that Prim's here, we can outnumber the boys!" Cob chases her with tickling fingers into the storefront.

"What do you want to make?" Peeta asks.

He steps beside me to the counter. I look at his arms, reaching for the flour above our heads. His arms brought Prim home. His arms brought me home. I feel safe in those arms. I feel alive.

My hands remember the heat of his body under my palms. Everything seems to go red. I think the world is on fire. I know what I want.

I grab his wrist.

"Hey Peeta? We need - Oh. Sorry." Cob's voice is highly amused.

My face is on fire. Peeta quickly moves away from where I had thrown him against the cabinet, pinning his mouth under mine. I can't even remember doing it. He's redder than I thought possible.

"What did you want?" Peeta mumbles.

"Sunflower flax," Cob coughs, stifling his smile.

Prim's blue eyes appear around the door. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," I mutter.

"Come on," Cob grins, wrapping his big hand around her shoulder. "Your sister and Peeta need to be alone."

Her wide eyes are curious as she moves back to the storefront.

"Sorry," I mumble.

"It's okay," Peeta whispers.

The smile is uncontrollable. It breaks as I reach for the flax seeds. I hand him the jar.

He's smiling too.

I don't sleep well that night, thinking of my husband on the sofa outside the door. I'll have to think of another place we can be together while we find a place for Prim.

The fire inside is burning hotter.

* * *

"Are you okay?" Prim asks as we dig holes into the cold garden earth and drop the seeds down.

"Yeah," I sigh. "Just..." I glance over my shoulder. "A bit nauseated," I whisper as I press earth over the holes. "It's a bad month."

"You can talk about your period in front of me," Fern admonishes lightly. She reaches over my shoulder to prod the tiny green shoot that appeared this morning. "Oh my," she sighs. "I'm going to have to explain that to my daughter someday." She may try to sound worried, but she's thrilled. "I'm going to have to tell her where babies come from," she giggles, though she tries to feign dismay.

"I know herbs that help with cramps," Prim offers quickly. "You can give Pepper remedies when you give her the talk."

She tries so hard to be useful. She hardly needs to. They adored her the first moment she sat at their table. I'd known she'd be better help for Fern when Peppermint comes home.

"Girls! There's a line, can you come in?" Savarin calls.

Fern stands and stretches her legs before heading in. Prim hops to her feet and waits for me. I rub my back.

"What's wrong?" she asks.

"Just a bad month," I mutter.

We go inside.

* * *

I'm up in the middle of the night, trying to keep the dim light in the bathroom from waking Prim by stuffing a towel in the door gap. I grip Peeta's shower balance rod and wait for the wave of nausea to pass. The cool stone shower floor feels good on my backside, but I'm still sweating.

I let my head loll back against the wall and sigh heavily. It's never been this bad; occasionally more painful but never like this. I count the tiles. _It's been...four days?_ I blink. _No, it's been a week. Longer? How could it have been longer? What day is it?_

The nausea evaporates as the idea blooms. I stare at my stomach. I'm flying. I'm soaring. I cover my mouth to stop the laughter that wants to explode forth and wake the household.

I think I'm pregnant.

I wash my face and get soap in my mouth when I can't stop smiling enough to close my lips. My hands are shaking so hard with excitement that I brush my teeth too hard and make my gums bleed.

I want to run out into the woods and shout. Maybe I can slip out early in the morning before everyone's up. I can't contain this forever or I'll burst like a firecracker.

I hang the towel bag up and shut off the light before slipping back to bed with Prim.

"Katniss?" she sighs into the pillow.

"Go to sleep, Prim," I whisper.

"Okay?" she asks groggily.

"Yes," I whisper with a grin. "Tomorrow is going to be a big, big day."

* * *

I wake up when she shrieks.

I'm alone in bed. Gray morning light is pouring in from the window. I jerk myself off the mattress and shove the door open as fast as I can. I expect to see the monster Gilder looming over her in front of the fireplace. I expect to see her standing on the well lip, her foot stretched backward before she falls to her death.

But the living room is empty. I hear the shriek again. It's followed by her laughter. I stumble to the back door.

She's in the garden. Cob is tossing her up in the air and catching her. He swings her around and around until she staggers. Her cheeks are red with laughter. She collapses on the new grass in a puddle of dizzy giggles. Fern shoos him away.

"Let her rest! Oh, you poor thing. You're not used to brothers," Fern smiles as she crouches next to Prim on the lawn.

"I didn't want to wake you," a soft voice says behind me. "Prim said you were up late last night."

I glance over my shoulder as Peeta comes to the window by the door. "Dad adores her." He looks at me sideways. "He always wanted a little girl."

"She's not really a girl anymore. Just little." She'll be fifteen soon. My baby sister will be an aunt. My pulse quickens. I have to tell Peeta.

He nods. "Are you all right?"

My heart catches. "Yes."

He waits. I can't lie to him.

"I think. I might." I turn away from the window set in the door. "I think I'm pregnant."

The world seems to stop. He doesn't move. "What?"

I smile nervously. "I've not been feeling well," I stammer. "And I realized last night I'm late...a few days. Um. I think." I swallow hard. "I think I'm pregnant."

He staggers. I jump. I've never seen him weak in the knees. He sits heavily on the arm of the sofa.

"But..." I think he's searching his memory. His brow uncrosses when he remembers the afternoon in the woods several weeks ago, just after Prim was safe at home with us. We had been outside for a midday break; we strolled to the boundary of the forest. The buds on the trees were breaking into flowers. I had said they were beautiful. He had blurted out that I was beautiful. He took me against a cherry blossom tree that rained petals down on us. Seeing the trees outside the window still makes me lust for him.

"I want children. With you." I have to say it. It comes out on its own. "I want this."

He closes his eyes for a moment. "Katniss," he struggles.

"Peeta-"

The door opens and Prim rushes in, chased by Cob. She halts when she sees my expression.

Cob trips trying not to run her over. "Hey, you're up! Are you all right?"

"I'm not feeling very well," I stutter.

"Did you eat anything from the garden recently?" Prim asks quickly. I spy a few green tendrils clutched in her fist.

"Yes," I say slowly.

"Hmm."

"What?" Peeta stands quickly.

"I just found these leaves. They look like kale," she explains, "but they're actually a mildly poisonous weed. They've been keeping the bugs away from Fern's gardenia bush, but they'll make us a bit sick."

I'm frozen. "How so?"

"Nausea mostly. Probably some painful cramping," Prim says slowly. "Is that how you feel?"

I am shattered.

"I'm going to lie down," I whisper. I stumble to my bedroom door.

Prim is alarmed. "Katniss?"

I shake my head and hurry. I can't face this devastation. I pull the door closed against the living room, the scraping louder than I've ever remembered it. I sit on the floor and bury my head in my hands.

"Katniss?" Prim is immediately yanking the door open. "What's wrong?" She falls to my side and presses her palm to my forehead. I try to push her hands away. "Katniss, please! What's wrong?"

"We thought-" Peeta's voice is behind her in the doorway. Prim looks up at him. "We thought it was a baby," he confesses quietly.

The life deflates from Prim. "Oh," she says. Her shoulder sag in sympathy. "Oh, Katniss, I'm so sorry. Maybe...maybe it is? We should do a test," she offers, even though I already know what it will read. "I can put a test together in about twenty minutes."

I nod uselessly. It will make her feel better. She grips my shoulder and tries to make me smile back, but I shake my head. She apologizes to Peeta as she hurries past him to collect herbs from the garden.

I look back over my shoulder at him.

"Lie down with me?" I whisper. He nods.

Peeta shuts our door against the noise of customers arriving at the shop. I move to the mattress and climb over to the window. He slowly lowers himself down, toeing his shoes off his feet. He stretches out and I rest my chin against his shoulder. I listen to his hypnotic breathing.

"I can't," he finally says. "I can't take care of them."

"You take care of me," I protest in murmurs. "You take care of your father. You take care of Prim."

"I can't walk." His voice is shaking.

"You carried Prim home."

"Katniss."

"There's nothing wrong with you."

He's quiet for a long time.

"What if it we can't? Because...I'm..." His eyes have wandered to the crutch by our bed.

It hurts when he says it. "There nothing wrong with you," I grit firmly. I twist my neck up to look at him. "You're only right."

* * *

"And shoes," Savarin calls to Fern as she drops coins into her pocket. "Her shoes are too small!" He looks at Prim. She's biting her nails. "What else do you need?"

I smile. "Underwear."

"Katniss!" Prim squeaks; her face is on fire.

"It's only us in the store," I laugh. Peeta covers his smile by turning to stack baguettes. She huffs and folds her arm. Savarin grins.

"And underwear!" he yells to the back. Prim buries her face in her hands. "And if you run into Cob on the way to the dairy, tell him I need an extra bag of apples."

Fern pushes through the kitchen door into the storefront. She stretches her back.

"Fennel, goat cheese, vinegar, apples, shoes, unmentionables," she winks. "Got it." She pats Prim on the head and hums to herself as she walks to the door.

"Do you need help?" Peeta asks.

"I need the activity," she reminds him. "I won't get out much when I have a little one," she beams. She makes a funny face as she marches down the steps and walks briskly towards the marketplace.

I watch her go. Peeta glances towards me. I turn away. Prim picks up the song Fern was humming and moves to rearrange a circle of cookie samples.

I walk back into the kitchen. I need quiet to think. He didn't say no to trying. He hasn't said yes yet. We have time. I'm impatient.

When Cinna had arrived earlier to interview us about Fern and Cob, I'd known their daughter would be coming home any day. Cinna adored them; they cried like fools when he gave them a picture of her dressed in a candy cane costume he'd sewed for her.

I am surprised how jealous I feel. It's confusing that after all I have I should want more, but when the test Prim prepared told me what I suspected I'd never felt more empty.

The front door bangs open. It's loud for a sleepy morning.

I notice that Prim's singing has been silenced. In icy silence settles into the storefront.

I run.

The man is over a foot taller than Peeta. He looks to be forty or a little older. His chestnut hair is graying. The skin around his eyes is crinkled, but it doesn't form laugh lines like Savarin's kind face. These are hard and soulless lines.

"I came for my girl," Azimuth Gilder growls.

Prim has pressed herself against the wall next to the door leading back into the kitchen. Her shoulders are hiked up and her cheek is twisted. She can't get any further away. She's paralyzed in fear. I grab her arm and drag her into my side.

"She's not your girl," Peeta grits. He stands directly in front of Gilder. His scalp is burning red through his blond hair.

"I bought her. She's mine until she's 18," the man snaps.

"Unless you transgress the auction agreement," Mr. Mellark snarls from behind the counter. His fist is tightening. I see he's only inches from the slicing knife. I start to shake. "And you did."

"I ain't done nothing! She's making up lies so she don't have to work!"

Prim whimpers and digs into my ribs.

"She's not going with you." Peeta blocks his way into the bakery. I can see the muscles of his back clenching.

"I'm not asking." Gilder tries to take a step forward.

Peeta doesn't raise his voice. "One more step and you're going to get hurt."

I hold my breath.

"Peeta," his father cautions. I grip Prim tighter.

"You come home now, you little bitch."

Gilder takes another step forward.

Peeta's crutch hits the floor. His right fist connects with Gilder's left cheekbone and I hear a crack. Gilder staggers backwards. He looks back up in time for Peeta's left fist to connect with his mouth.

I shove Prim behind the kitchen door and run to the threshold.

Peeta lifts Gilder off the ground. I freeze. His feet dangle. Peeta throws his body off the front porch of the bakery effortlessly. Gilder lands on the ground five feet from the steps. Peeta is not sweating. His pupils are so wide his eyes look black. The small cluster of customers that had been coming to shop are staring. I see Cob racing back towards the store.

Gilder is struggling to stand.

"I'd stay down," Cob pants, reaching us and stepping in front of the crowd watching the spectacle. "He's stronger than you." Eyes all around are looking at my husband in awe.

I glance sideways at Peeta. His breathing is deliberate and deep. He is like a stone statue, carved and unyielding. The veins along his forearms are taught and his jaw twitches. His burning glare is set on Gilder.

He reaches into his pocket and tosses a handful of coins on the prone man. "You want a wife, you buy a wife. Not a child."

The spectators' expressions turn dark. They look at Gilder forcing his damaged body to its unwilling feet.

"You come near my family again," Peeta starts. He waits for Gilder to look back. He waits for him to look him in the eye. "I will kill you." Peeta turns, bends, collects his crutch and walks back inside.

I watch Gilder until he's collected the coins off the ground, avoiding the steely and angry looks of the crowd eyeing him. As he walks away, a woman spits on him. Gilder does not slow his retreat.

Prim is hanging on to Peeta when I come back inside. Cob is close behind me and closes the door.

"He won't come back for you," Peeta is whispering. "I won't let him near you."

"Bring her into the kitchen," Savarin says quietly, grabbing a chocolate cookie and pushing it into Prim's hands. "Eat this, sweetheart," he murmurs. "You'll feel better."

She half-laughs, half-cries.

I stare after Peeta as he guides her out of the storefront.

"He's a lot stronger than people think," Cob mumbles. "He…he's braver and…he's a fighter."

I twist to look at Cob. "I never thanked you."

"For what?" he asked.

"For…arranging our marriage. I…I never thought I'd have something…so…good. So…he's…" I don't know how to describe it. Words seem too small for something so big.

Cob nods. "He's better. He's the best," he sighs. "I'm so grateful you can see it, Katniss."

"He doesn't hide it well," I blurt out.

Cob can't stop the surprised laughter. "He can't. Even hiding in that kitchen. He can't."

The door chimes and Fern bustles in. "I heard there was a fight!" Her face is red and she's struggling to catch her breath. "What happened?"

"Gilder came for Prim," I tell her.

She blanches. "Peeta took care of it," Cob nods at her.

She melts with relief and reforms with resolve. "Good," she grits her teeth. "I hope he took care of him good. What?" she demands when my eyebrows go up.

"I've never seen you angry," I confess.

"You've never seen someone mess with our family." She drops a bag of apples on the counter. "You think Peeta's a fighter. Just wait 'til you see Fern McKenzie Mellark in the ring." She tosses her hair proudly over her shoulder and marches to the kitchen with promises of warm tea. Cob is glowing with pride.

He glances to me. "She's not kidding," he assures me. "You're her sister. So now Prim is too. You're home, Katniss."

"Katniss?" Prim's voice draws me to the kitchen. I hurry in to see Prim's chair pushed against Peeta; she leans into his side as he keeps a protective arm around her. I pull the wheeled stool over from the island to cocoon her on the other side. I hold her hand while Savarin feeds her hot chocolate and warm toast. Her fear abates slowly.

When business picks up in the early afternoon, Peeta tells her she can stay in the back and help me in the kitchen. He goes into the storefront for her when Fern heads back out to finish the shopping.

She stands at my elbow and looks at me. "He's good to me, too."

I nod. "He's the best."

* * *

She falls asleep on the sofa curled into Savarin. His reading glasses slip down his nose. The book resting on his chest rises and falls with his gentle snores.

I tiptoe to my room and close the door. Peeta is rifling through the closet.

"What are you looking for?" I ask, sitting down on the mattress to pull my boots off.

"I think I have some old schoolbooks," he mutters, pulling aside a box of summer clothes he'd stored on a high shelf. "My mother would get them from the school and bring them home at the start of the year. Prim needs to catch up on her studies; she had to drop out to work. I might have some pencils left..."

I can't remember standing up. It's like a magnet has raised me to my feet. He turns around.

I realize at the same time he does that I ripped off my dress. He stares. I reach out and grab his shirt.

"Wait," he stumbles. He struggles towards the light. I smack his hand away from the pull chain and throw myself at him. He kisses me back. Eagerly. Wantonly. I yank on his shirt.

"Wait," he repeats, catching his breath.

I grit my jaw. I tear his shirt. The violet scars form little white ridges on his side and back; they look like an illustration I saw in a children's book of waves capping on an ocean. I trace my fingers along the secret he's hidden for so long. I press my lips to his skin.

I shove the crutch away and pull him so he falls on top of me on the bed. The desperation is ferocious. The messy, clumsy, overwhelming need to show him that I live for him.

He fights me again when I try to remove his pants without turning off the light. He's stronger but I'm quicker. I distract and pull, he pushes me back against the wall. I fight forward, duck under his muscled arms and yank the waistband. We wrestle. I like how hot the room is growing.

"Katniss," he begs, but I climb on top of him. My roving fingers distract him.

I win.

I trace the sunken flesh where part of the muscle was removed. The stitching scar is still visible. He holds his breath. The damage runs from the thigh to his shoulder. The smattering of purple and berry pink splotches on his knee matches his forearm. He twists to try to roll onto his mangled side, but I straddle him. I stare into his eyes.

"There was a fire. In the old bakery." His voice is barely a whisper. "I didn't get out in time."

"You're here. You're my husband," I tell him. "You got out at the right time for us to be together today."

He watches me.

* * *

I'm exhausted. My muscles ache. My hands hurt from rope burn. I must have slipped while clinging to it when the moon was high in the night sky.

Peeta kept trying to shush me. I made him yell eventually.

I think I like winning these arguments.

* * *

Fern collects a few almonds from the paper packet in her hand and throws them up in the air. Cob catches them with his mouth. We cheer and clap as we wander through the Merchant Quarter for the Fall Festival. Peppermint chews Prim's shoulder with her two new teeth. She points at her father and makes a noise he determines to be approval.

They'd decided against Patricia. I like Peppermint anyway.

Prim reads every child-rearing book she can borrow from the midwife and bookseller and reports to Fern in full detail until she loses her voice. She'll be an excellent doctor. Mr. Mellark tells her so too.

Prim sleeps in Fern's old room, across from Mr. Mellark's, and wakes him up singing in the morning. He adores her. He spoils her. Fern has already let out her clothes twice.

Prim adores all of them back. She used to cling to Peeta. For the few weeks after her buyer showed up, she was too anxious to be alone. She would hang onto my shirt when I stood by her side in the storefront. She would get underfoot following Peeta around the kitchen. She would interrupt our attempts to be alone. Peeta never got cross with her. Even when I was frustrated, he was patient.

The day we learned Azimuth Gilder fled town pursued by an auction investigation team she began to relax.

As we walk through the festival, I glance over at Peeta. He's glowering.

"What's wrong?" I whisper.

"That boy is looking at Prim," he mutters.

I look over at the distracted young man picking up the wreath made of ribbons his little sister knocked from a fabric seller's display. He glances over at Prim again while she lifts Pepper up in the air and flies her through the air to Cob's arms. The young man's mouth is hanging slightly open. He catches Peeta glaring at him. He jumps a mile.

I am surprised when I recognize his features. I suddenly wave.

He spies me and waves nervously. I motion for him to come over to us.

"It's all right," I whisper. "That's a friend."

The awkward boy trips on his feet. He's grown a great deal since I saw him last, hiding behind a tree in the woods nearby a rundown home in the Seam.

"Hi. Hi, Katniss. Um, hi." He doesn't even look at me. He's staring at Prim.

"This is my little sister, Primrose," I say softly. "This is Vick Hawthorne. Gale's brother."

"Hi. Hi." He swallows.

"It's so nice to meet you." She smiles and holds out her hand. He shakes it far too long. Then he just hangs onto her hand. Fern covers her amusement with a polite cough.

Peeta glares.

"Is Gale here?"

"Yeah," Vick mumbles.

"Vick?"

"Oh!" He drops Prim's hand suddenly and his face turns red as he turns at the sound of his brother's voice. I turn too.

Gale stands a few paces off; his game bag now empty at his side and a small bulge of coins in his pocket. He stares. He shuffles over to me in awe. I can see him eyeing my new shape in shock. "Katniss."

I take in the boy I knew. He's grown to a man. His eyes are softer. The pain has become a part of him now. Like me. Like Peeta. Life is still hard on him. We grow through it.

"Gale." I reach out. He takes my hand. He looks past me. I smile. "This is my family." I turn back to Peeta. "This is my husband."

"You're very lucky to have her," Gale tells Peeta.

Peeta nods. I'm grateful.

"How are you?" I ask softly. "Your family?"

Gale's mouth becomes a thin line. My heart stops. "Where is Rory?"

"At home," he assures me. "Mother needed help with the washing today." He sighs. "One of her clients is moving and all their things need washing...before they're gone."

"Is she a laundress?" Fern perks up.

Gale nods.

Fern elbows Cob. "Where is her shop?"

"She works at home," Gale coughs. "In the Seam."

"Do you think she'd take on another client? Just for a few months?" she pleads. She looks down at her belly. "Maybe a year?"

I frown. She glances at me. Then Peeta. Then Cob.

"Oh, they'd find out sooner or later," Cob tells her. He addresses us. "We're pregnant."

My eyes pop open. Peppermint is only now eight months old.

Fern nods at my expression. "I told you it's easy to get carried away," she sighs. "It'll be wonderful! It really will. But a lot of laundry..." She turns back to Gale. "And maybe if she likes babysitting...?"

"I could ask," Gale mumbles. But I can tell he's hopeful. He's very lean.

"Why don't you come over for Feast?" Cob says. "Your family. We can talk after dinner."

Gale and Vick exchange a glance. "I don't know," he hesitates. "It's a family thing."

"You haven't met my father-in-law," I murmur. "Everyone's family at the bakery."

Vick is still staring at Prim. "I can come."

Gale rolls his eyes. "I'll ask. No promises."

I nod and smirk at Vick's obviousness. Prim is blushing a poppy red while she pretends she doesn't notice the attention of the handsome young man.

I glance up at the sound of familiar laughter. Laughter I hadn't heard in a long time.

There she is. Smile shining like I remember from years ago. She twirls her blond waves in her fingertips like a younger woman, speaking to the well-groomed man holding her hand in the crook of his elbow.

I hear Prim's gasp before I can even spin to see the sting of betrayal on my little sister's face. I look back to her mother, strolling across the square, holding the arm of the mayor of District Twelve. A defeated, sorrowful Madge wanders a few yards behind them. Her footsteps falter as she loses the will to follow them. She cannot join their merriment.

I move towards them immediately. "Mother."

She jerks her arm free. "Katniss?" She is disbelieving. Her mouth threatens a smile, unsure whether to welcome this discovery or fear it. "You look so well-"

"Did you let him die?" I stare.

"What?"

"Did you let my father die?" I choke. "To remarry? Did you?"

Prim tiptoes over to the woman we called Mother for so long.

"Primrose," she breathes.

"Did you sell us so you'd be free?" I demand. The hurt is so massive it's consuming me. Madge stares. I think she must wonder if it's true as well.

"Mother?" Prim whispers.

"No. Of course not!" Mother stumbles and the mayor grips her hand.

"Girls, I am so sorry for your loss," he says softly. "None of this happened until we had both laid our loved ones to rest. I promise you. This was...a surprise." He smiles at my mother sadly. "Nothing was ever planned. Not many things in life are," he adds.

"You mean you didn't plan he'd live to so long?" I growl.

My mother stares at me. "Can't you be happy for me?" she whispers painfully. "We spent years in the shadow of pain and sickness. Can't you be happy for us all?"

I grab Prim's hand.

"I can be happy we're not with you."

I drag Prim away from the stranger named Evelyn Everdeen. My husband puts his arm around Prim to pull her to his other side, further from Evelyn. He watches her, daring her to follow us as we make our way home.

She doesn't.

We don't belong with her anymore.

* * *

"Katniss?" Mr. Mellark wanders into the kitchen to refill his teacup finds me sitting alone in the darkened kitchen after dinner. I'm listening to Peeta quiz Prim on her homework in the living room.

It's Cob and Fern's second night in their new home. It's quiet without Peppermint seeing how loud she can yell.

"Yes, sir?"

He smiled. "You can call me Dad. I think it's been long enough."

I let my shoulders sag. "Yes..." but as I try to call him the name I can only see my father's arms around me, showing me how to hold the bow, teaching me to tie my bootlaces, telling me to be brave.

I break down into a new set of arms that hold me close.

"My girl, my girl, there, there," Mr. Mellark whispers.

He helps me to the table and sits me down, pushing his cup of tea to my shaking hands. He sits heavily across from me and watches me gulp the tea through my sobs.

"Katniss. Life is not easy. For anyone. Trust me." He waits for me to calm my breathing before inhaling deeply. "I met the woman of my dreams thirty two years ago. She made me come alive in a way I didn't know I could. We knew a happiness I didn't know was possible on this earth. And a few short years after our wedding we had a wonderful son. He was our love, given form. When he was two we were thrilled to learn he was going to have a sibling."

I turn the numbers over in my head but they don't match. Cob is twenty eight, nearly twenty nine. Peeta will be nineteen in four weeks. He sees my confusion.

"Our daughter was stillborn. We lost the the girl we conceived the next year while still in the womb. And the boy three years after that."

I clutch at my heart.

"It did hurt," he acknowledges. "It hurt so much. We had to stop trying. The losses had grown too deep, too irreparable.

"And then a miracle. Ten years after our first son, and quite by accident," he smiles, "we were given the second incarnation of our love. A boy so kind and generous we thought he ought to raise us instead of the other way around. And he adored his big brother like an idol.

"When he was twelve, our old bakery on the other side of the Quarter caught fire. It caught the bread wrappings quickly and the entire front counter went up in flames. I had pulled Annalise out the back door, thinking the boys were right behind us. But only Peeta emerged. When he saw Cob wasn't with us, he ran back in before I could go in his place. Cob was trapped behind the counter; it was on fire. Cob tells me Peeta kicked through the glass cases to pull his brother free. It cut up his leg terribly, but it was the collapse of the counter above the glass case that burned him so badly.

"He got his brother free. He saved his life. Cob carried Peeta outside to his mother and me because he couldn't walk anymore."

My hands are shaking so badly I have to set down the mug of tea.

"His leg got infected," Savarin confesses painfully. "That was my fault; I'm sure of it. I'm no nursemaid. I read the medicine's instructions so many times…I couldn't be sure what to do anymore. Your mother did the surgery. Did you know that? I guess not. She made sure you weren't home. He was your age; that would have frightened you to know that could happen to a child.

"She only had to remove part of the muscle, but he'll never run again. Not like he could as a boy. That was hard for Cob. He loved his brother so much already; to know and see that Peeta would die for him was too much. He's never felt he's made it up to Peeta. It was hard on Fern, even though she understood why Cob delayed marrying her. He loves her, he always loved her, but he's always felt that he needed to take care of Peeta before himself."

"That's why he bought me," I hear myself say. "With the money for his and Fern's wedding. So Peeta would be married first."

"That, and he knew Peeta had been so fond of you."

"What?"

Savarin smiles. "You're not very quiet at the garbage cans." He leans back. "He used to talk about the girl with the braid when he was a little boy. When he was going to school. When he was talking," Savarin notes. "But even when he stopped talking, when Cob would mention the dark haired girl rooting through our trash bins...it brought him back to us. For just a moment."

I look at my cup.

"Katniss, my sweet daughter. Do not regret the past. All the wounds, all the pain, all the fear, all the hunger. It has taught you what it takes to survive. So you would be ready to accept, and be thankful for, a life without pain or hurt or fear of hunger. You can have that now. You and Prim both. Can you believe me?"

It's hard to nod while I'm shaking.

"You will forgive your mother someday. I know that seems impossible; but not everyone is as strong as you. And being around Peeta," he sighs, "learning to forgive is inevitable."

I laugh and sob at the same time. "Even when you want to be mad, he's just so damn sweet."

"Tell me about it. I forgot my wife's birthday one year and he had defused her before I even got home from the market." Savarin glances up. "He won't ever forget your birthday, I promise."

"I don't mind it," I sigh.

"No, he carved it into the wood below his window."

It's an earthquake under my feet. 508. May 8th. "For crying out loud," I mutter.

"I know. Infuriating, isn't it?"

We smile at one another.

"I'm ready to be happy," I whisper. "I think...I think I'm ready to accept that."

"Good." He clears his throat. "Because, and please forgive my forwardness, and I do love having you both around, but if you two are going to keep...carrying on...the way you do, you really ought to find your own place - nearby, but...still."

My face burns. Peeta was right; they could hear us.

He sighs mournfully. "This house is going to feel too big with the four of you gone."

"What about Prim?" I realize. "What am I going to do with her?"

"Nothing," he smiled. "She's going to take Cob's room, actually. She likes the light in there better than yours."

I stare.

He stretches as he slides out his chair out and collects my cup. "Now go clean your room; you left your coat and shoes everywhere when you got home."

I stare at the man washing the dishes. The smile breaks over my face.

"Yes, Dad."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10: Peeta's POV**

The counter is covered with food and we've clustered all the side tables we could find into the kitchen.

"They're going to be here soon!" Prim panics. "How do I look?"

"Here, let me fix that ribbon," Katniss says, tying the bow on her braid tighter.

"Why are you worried about that?" I demand.

"Peeta," my father warns. "You leave Vick Hawthorne alone tonight."

"If he leaves her alone," I grumble. Katniss smiles at me over the table. She's wearing her Mockingjay pin on her dress.

There's a knock at the door. Prim squeals. "Should I stand here or come down the stairs?" She runs for the stairs. "I'm going to make an entrance!" She makes a racket running up the wooden steps.

My dad rolls his eyes. He walks through the kitchen door to the storefront to welcome our guests. "Make an entrance," he mutters affectionately. "They probably heard her in the Seam...Oh." He opens the door.

"Um. Hi," a female voice says.

"Can I help you?"

I peer around the doorway. The mayor's daughter is standing on the doorstep.

"I was wondering...I heard...Fern...Mrs. Mellark is expecting. I was wondering if you'd be hiring soon?" she pleads. "If you have any work?"

I push into the kitchen. I can hear Katniss following close behind me.

"Um. Hi, Katniss," Madge whimpers. Her lip trembles. "I saw you in the market the other day. Your sister-in-law's having a baby, I heard. So...I was wondering." She bursts into tears. "I can't stay there!"

Dad shoos her inside and closes the door. Katniss hurries forward to collect her in her arms.

"I'm so sorry," Madge blubbers, wiping her eyes and trying to speak to my father. "I'm very professional. I've had cooking lessons and musical training and...and herbology lessons," she starts to cry again. Katniss holds her tighter. Her hand drifts to Madge's white blond hair and pulls her head to rest on Katniss' shoulder.

"Did he ever love my mother?" she whispers.

"Yes," Katniss insists gently. "Yes. They loved them both. But they're gone now. She's free now, Madge. Just like my dad."

Madge nods and swallows hard.

"Cob? Find another chair," Dad calls at the eyes peering through the kitchen doorway.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. It's Feast!" Madge realizes. She pulls away from Katniss, rubbing her damp cheeks. "I interrupted your dinner. I forgot." She looks up at me. "I...I just left. I walked out the back door and didn't turn around."

"It's okay. We made a lot of food," I tell her.

"I can't interrupt," she says.

"We haven't even started; our other guests aren't here yet," Dad says. "You're just in time."

Madge begins to protest again, but my father cuts her off. "Katniss, show her the washroom. If Prim isn't fixing her hair again."

"Don't laugh," Katniss warns Madge as she drags her to the stairs. "Prim has a bit of a crush on a boy who's coming over."

"Who?" Madge asks.

"You'll be able to tell," I groan.

She is desperately grateful as Katniss leads her to wash up.

"We're out of chairs, think I can get the sofa through the door?" Cob asks. I go to the kitchen and wheel my stool over to the overstuff table. I stand back.

Our table had an empty seat for so long. Now we can't contain the number coming. I forgot that you have to let people in.

The second knock comes. I hear Prim squeak from upstairs.

"I'll get it," I smirk. My father is pleased. I haven't faced the front door in a long time.

Posy Hawthorne immediately hands me a ribbon wreath. "It's for your head," the five-year-old tells me.

"It's for Primrose," Vick hisses at her.

Posy frowns at me. "But he's got the gold hair too!" she argues.

"Thank you, but I think your brother's right," I tell her. "It'll look better on Prim."

I show their family of five into the kitchen. We made two geese so there'd be extra food and Fern boiled all the potatoes she could find. She ate one already; she's snacking frequently. We catch her eating a hard-boiled egg as our guests enter.

"Oh! I'm so sorry," she flushes. "I'm a bit hungry."

Hazelle Hawthorne takes her in. "Three months? Nearly four?" she gauges.

Fern nods in amazement.

"Eat while you can," Hazelle cautions with a smile. "Two is harder than one." She nods her head back to her brood.

"Bah!" commands Peppermint from her high chair. Her plastic spoon sprays strained turnip onto the wall. Cob sighs.

"Mama, look how tall this man is!" Posy shouts as she watches Cob pick up and clean the spoon. She runs to stand on his foot to look up. "He goes to the sky!"

"For crying out loud," Rory moans in embarrassment. He slumps into a corner and assumes the mortified pose of every thirteen year old forced to be seen with their family.

Gale leans over to me and my father. "I'm sorry we're so loud. It's just with the boys and the baby..." Madge is at the foot of the stairs. She dabs her eyes with a handkerchief. Katniss pats her shoulder.

"Madge, do you know our friend Gale?" she prods.

Madge shakes her head and smiles weakly. "How do you do?"

Gale stretches out his long, lanky arm and takes her hand. "A pleasure."

My father watches them. He leans over. "Are we using the good china?" he murmurs in my ear.

I nod.

* * *

Katniss and I lay in bed, stomachs straining with food, smiling in the dark.

Vick Hawthorne is a fool for Prim. He must have dropped his fork three times before his mother told him to get his eyes on his plate instead of Prim. He was so pink we thought he'd melt. Prim giggled and grinned and dropped her fork.

Peppermint pushed her bowl of strained carrots off the highchair in approval. It splattered on the tablecloth and curtains. Hazelle was pleased to start working for Cob and Fern the next day. She will have plenty of work.

Gale helped Madge wash up. She asked him about his work with the Auction Investigation team. He asked her about her music lessons. They listen to one another with rapt attention.

Katniss rolls over to me. I can see her eyes peering into mine through the darkness of our room under the stairs.

"Are you worried about Prim?" I whisper. "I'm keeping an eye on Vick."

"Peeta," she sighs. "Prim likes him. Leave her be."

I growl. "Fine."

A quiet settles. She still watches me.

"Are you all right?" I ask.

She takes a deep breath. "I'm late."

It takes a moment. It's like freezing. Being encased in ice; paralyzing me from the outside in.

"Peeta?"

"You think?"

"Yeah. I waited longer this time. I've missed two cycles."

I should have been more careful. This is my fault. I swallow hard.

"Do you want to work out a contract?" I whisper.

"What?"

"When...she or he gets here. We can make new terms...if there are children." My lungs hurt.

"You don't want him?"

I can't say that. I won't lie to her. I say nothing.

"Peeta?"

She's hurting.

"Peeta?"

I hate being the cause of it.

"Peeta, please. Say something."

"What if he's afraid of me?" It's my worst fear. I never meant to share it.

"What?"

"If he sees…my scars. What if I scare him?" I can see him looking at me in my mind. Her eyes. Her mouth. My hair. Trembling in fear at the monster of his father.

She jerks upright. "You think you'd scare him?"

I nod.

"But…you're beautiful."

The sheet of ice holding me captive cracks.

"Peeta, you're beautiful," she insists. Her voice is firm. She's not whispering anymore. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever known."

I grab her and kiss her. I have to stop her talking before I lose my resolve. But then she's kissing me back. And now I can only think about how much I want this. I want to have what my parents had. I want to have what Cob and Fern have.

Katniss kisses my cheeks. My eyelids. My hair.

"I want him to look like you. I want him to be as beautiful as you," she rasps.

"Katniss," I mumble, trying to remember this is what got us into trouble.

"I want him to have your smile," she continues. Her fingers are on my shirt. "I want him to have your courage."

She doesn't stop. She lays me down. She always wins these arguments. I think she always will.

I don't think I mind after all.

* * *

Madge Undersee is a wonderful help at the bakery while my father is completely distracted with Peppermint and Fern can no longer stand at the counter all day. Katniss' back has started to ache and she has to take breaks to sit on the wheeled stool now. She smirks when she sees me watching the little bubble under her shirt.

Madge arrives early and lets herself in with a spare key Dad gave her. She stays late, cleaning countertops and polishing the bread tins. We don't mention that we know she doesn't want to go home.

Her father stops by with Evelyn one afternoon while Katniss and I shovel snow from the steps. Katniss stares. Her mother looks wistfully at the bump under Katniss' apron.

"Peeta," Katniss murmurs. "Send Prim upstairs."

I obey her, finding Prim in the kitchen working on her math homework. She is confused until she glances out the window. She goes without question. I call softly to Madge in the storefront.

Katniss takes Madge out back and the four of them stand in the garden. Katniss holds Madge's hand. I watch from the window. I know I shouldn't.

Mr. Undersee wipes his eyes. Evelyn takes his arm. They talk for a long time. An understanding seems to pass. Their time together is over. Each of them has a new life to begin.

Madge moves in that night; to the room Prim vacated for Cob's larger room. I listen to Katniss soothe her in the room above ours. Her soft voice descends the water pipes.

"Madge?" Silence. "Things change. Time goes on. Even when you think it won't. Even if you don't think you can survive the sun coming up another day. You do. You go on."

"I don't know how to," Madge's voice slips through the wall.

"You get up tomorrow," Katniss says. "You make bread. You learn a new recipe. The sun goes down. It comes back up. Until one day you realize you've forgotten the hunger and hurt. And you realize you're with people that love you. And you love them back more fiercely than you ever thought possible. And life is new all over again."

I hear her footsteps leaving Madge's room. She floats above me for a moment before I hear the door opening and Katniss comes in.

I look at her.

She nods. She sighs.

Prim's gentle voice comes in overhead. "Madge, can I sleep in here with you? I'm cold in my room."

Katniss smiles. I do too.

My father is overjoyed to finally have his long-lost daughters home.

Well, for a while.

Vick Hawthorne keeps finding reasons to stop by. He's surprisingly inventive. Prim suspiciously offers to run errands to the Seam marketplace and the Hob all the time. My father lets her go about half of the time she asks. He's not ready to marry his youngest off just yet.

The most pleasant surprise was Gale Hawthorne stopping by to visit Madge Undersee. I see something familiar in the quiet lunches they spend in the garden. They don't speak much.

But sometimes you don't need to say anything at all.

* * *

Katniss and I find a house only two streets away from the bakery four months after my second niece is born and three months before our child is due. We had found one open across town nearly two months ago but Dad refused to let us move that far. My child is going to be as spoiled as Cob's daughters.

I sigh as I collect the soaps and brushes from the bathroom to drop in a box. This little storage closet has been home for nearly ten years. I helped Katniss wash her face in this sink the first afternoon she came home with me. She stayed on that mattress for hours. Looking at her now, two years later, sitting cross-legged on our bed with her ballooning stomach resting on her ankles, tying bundles of shoelaces together, I can't see the skeleton that came home.

She is familiar but new. She makes me feel familiar and new. I don't remember how we lived without one another before. I pull the lamp light off and haul the box of toiletries out into the room with my free arm.

I stop.

She's tracing her finger over the marks in the wood.

"You carved me into your life from the start, didn't you?" she murmurs.

"Yes."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." I smile. I shoulder the last bag of shoes she's collected and she takes the basket of toiletries to carry. I look around the room. "We're really leaving."

"We're going two streets away," she reminds me dryly.

"Cob is coming by to help hook up the bathroom on the first floor tomorrow," I tell her as she pushes open the door. I laugh as she doesn't hide her horror. "Gale is going to help him." She looks relieved.

"Oh wait!" I turn around and root in the top most dresser drawer. I find the scratch awl.

I return to her side. "I'll need this to put both your birthdays on the wall."

She smiles and shakes her head.

"I hope he looks like you," she blushes. "You're so beautiful."

"I hope he looks like you," I tell her. "I've loved watching you for so long."

"Well." She smiles at me. "I can always hope."

**The End.**


End file.
